Always and Never
by Domlando Blonaghan
Summary: He never thought he would love her. She always knew it would end. During the Golden Age, a Terebinthian woman learns that beneath the magnificent facade, there is only Peter. Bookbased. This fic has been brought back to life, to be finally finished!
1. Always

She watched him, as only a lover would, as he whirled around the dance floor, swinging his laughing, graceful sister in a wild, flowing, romp. Completely in time, completely disregarding it.

She watched him, later, green eyes sparkling like the forest in sunlight, as his brother shared a joke with him, and his delight was plain to everyone in the room.

She watched him, still later, as he frowned in his dream, the muscles in his shoulders and chest twitching, taut with reliving a skirmish in the North.

He would be remembered as Magnificent. She would remember how she always knew it would end. She wondered, before diving into the sea of his eyes with abandon, if it would be worth it. If only a little of him would be able to sustain a lifetime, even after he was gone, disappearing and returning to where he came from? Because she always knew that he would leave. Always.

Why else, she would ponder, sifting through memories like soggy tea leaves in a finite cup, would he have danced every dance, soaked up every story into his vast memory, laughed the loudest and mourned with the most sorrow?

She would always think of him as a demi-god. A mortal man with the twinkling eyes of a deity. When her hands became useless with their shaking, when her body began to sag under the weight of time and uncountable memories, she would think of his eyes and all that was attached to them. Of his calloused, graceful hands and his beautiful shoulders which bore the weight of the world and relished it, and she would stand straighter and bear the burden of her choice. To love him. Unquestioningly, completely, in the knowledge that he would be lost to her. Without the knowledge that she would ever see his face again.

Right after he left, she would wake sweating. Feeling him next to her, on top of her, inside her. Everywhere, overwhelming like he had been only days before. Lips, hands, legs, arms, hips tangling and twisting like the fauns on the Dancing Lawn only much wilder, much more beautiful, much _more_. And she would reach for him in the darkness, not just her hands but her lips and legs and heart and mind and she would search out the twinkle in his eyes with the deep caverns of her own, all the while knowing that she had brought this upon herself. All the while knowing that it was all she would ever have, this memory and this reaching, until the end of her days.

After a while it stopped. And the first morning that she woke from a dreamless, Peter-less sleep, she cried for a day, because she knew then, that no matter how much she had gotten from him, no matter how much they had given and taken, it could not have sustained a lifetime. And while she cried, she knew, that she had brought it upon herself. She had wanted to capture him, break off a piece of Peter for herself and cherish it. But he belonged to a different place, a different time, and she was forever stuck in the paradise that he had willingly left.

And though she saw him dance every dance, and shed every tear, and ring out every laugh of joy and amusement, she saw the distance in his eyes. The bleak knowledge of his impermanence, that it was all too good to last.

The day the Stag was spotted, they were sharing a lazy morning together. Touching and tasting languidly, their favourite kind of lazy day when the sun was high but the curtains were drawn and there was a tingle on their skin and a faint sheen of sweat. And then the rap at the door came, and it was Edmund. And it was what she always loved about him, that regal magnificence that couldn't turn down a challenge or an adventure. After all, it was what had led him to her. So she told him to go, and that if he caught something she would have a reward and she winked in a very un-ladylike way and he told her so. And their kiss goodbye was just that. Nothing earth-shattering or meaningful, and it was what she kicked herself for every day for the rest of her life.

When he left he didn't look back at her lying wanton on the bed, his shoulders were straight and tall and still bare and he looked like the god she thought he was and then he was gone and she knew that she had never had him. That they played and laughed and touched and tasted and relished in each other that to him she was just another dance to be performed. And eventually, it was what killed her. She lay in her bed and she thought of that morning, and memories surfaced into dreams, and from that dream, of the lavish kisses and teasing caresses she stopped breathing, and when the dryad found her one corner of her mouth was turned up in a wistful smile.

Was it days, or months, or years later when he woke with his bedsheets twisted? His body, lithe but still soft with youth and innocence glistened with sweat, and as he sat up, green eyes glowing in the dark, the images of his dream flashed before him. Dark, cavernous eyes that pulled him deep into her soul, and full, beautiful lips on a creamy landscape of soft curves. One corner of her mouth was turned up in a coy smile as she reached out to him. His tears fell, but he could not remember why.


	2. Never

_**Never**_

He never sought her out. Even when she stood, like the pure darkness of a night which is cool and soothing and perfect, looking at him with her eyes veiled. Even though he felt a tug in his body that pushed him towards her. Because he had known. Because it was all too good to last.

Everything was good and pure in Narnia and after the first time he met her he felt tainted. When he woke from the dreams of those veiled eyes and dark hair like the night sky and skin of moonlight, sweating and breathing hard, he felt as though he was betraying the spirit of the land he governed. And so in vain he tried to forget her.

He took long rides and dueled for hours and when it was all over the only thing he could see through the sweat-covered strands of hair that covered his eyes was her face and her shape standing on the balcony of Cair Paravel in her white mantle.

It was new and it was frightening and he had never thought this way before about a live, breathing woman but the moment he looked into her eyes he saw flecks of gold in the dark brown of their orbs and they looked so like the colour of Aslan's mane that he knew that he was pure, that they were both pure.

And they had danced and they had laughed and later in the night when the castle was quiet they had danced a different dance, one more wild and more soft and more desperate, with rhythms and a melody far more ancient than the faun-songs of Narnia. She had tried to get up to leave afterwards but he had gathered her to him and then he was lost.

He had never thought it would be this way. When he first discovered his impending kingship he had thought only of glory and of tournaments and of crowns and wars and honour. He had never thought of peace-time, of the wonders of this sweet war he waged in his own private chambers when the rest of the world was far away in slumber.

He had never thought he would plant a tree especially for her in the orchard, that they would take day-long rides with each other and that the horses would tactfully wander off during lunch to find the nicer grass, and that he would not only not be embarrassed but that he would laugh and silently thank them for their not-so-subtle help.

Above all, he never thought he would love her. Never thought that the days of battle in the North and nights around a fire telling ancient tales with weather-beaten men and beasts of lore would feel so lonely without her. He never thought that he would begin to turn to her in the night, finding only the back of his younger brother, who would tease him the next morning.

He also never thought that he would leave.

Oh no, he always _knew_ that it would end, that he had _somewhere_ he belonged that wasn't about heralds and hauberks and palaces. The look in Aslan's eyes when the crown was placed upon his head had said plainly, "Don't get too comfortable." But he did. Too comfortable.

When that night came, oh, that night when he was entangled in her arms and legs and they didn't know where they began or ended, the way it always was, now that he loved her, he was unprepared. The dream that showed him flashes of something lost and forgotten and roads and a country lawn with a big house that was familiar but so alien to his Narnian mind shocked him. And Aslan's beautiful golden eyes, staring into him before he woke caused him to twitch and shudder and in the morning, he didn't want to leave his bed because he knew that the sun was high and the day was ripe for a change that he did not want to admit was happening. And so he stayed with her and drank her in, every drop, until he was sure that this much of her would last, would sustain him forever, no matter what befell him.

But then the knock came and it spelled doom, but it was only Edmund, and he spoke of the Stag and there was a heaviness in his heart and he couldn't say no because Aslan's eyes burned into him still the way they would until he was ripped from life and so he kissed her goodbye and teased her and promised to return. But he knew, that she was lost to him, although he didn't think it. Couldn't think it. Couldn't let it be real.

And when he rose with goosebumps all over his bare shoulders that she loved to kiss and trace and caress, though the reason was lost to him, he didn't look back. If he looked back all his courage would fail him, because although she had made him a man she could be the undoing of him if she so chose, and perhaps even if only he chose. So he resisted the pull of her eyes and her lips and her legs and her hair and her hips and ignored the pang in his heart and the warning in his mind and closed the door on her forever.

When Lucy wanted to go on an adventure he gamely carried on, saying goodbye to her, saying the words that had never escaped his lips. He loved her.

Years earlier or later, if you counted the age of his body or the time that had passed, he woke, trembling with fear and love and regret and longing and despair. He didn't know her name anymore. His body, only a shadow of the one he knew was to come, had a tingling he knew it had never felt before, though it seemed so familiar. He ached with need for something that he could not remember. He loved something which had no name, no shape except for darkness speckled with gold. His slender shoulders, imperfect babies of the ones he would be so proud of for a far-off and forgotten reason, shook with the weight of his grief, as tears fell onto his restless, twisted sheets.

**A/N: Hello, all. Thanks for reading and please review to support my first foray back into fanfiction in over a year! It's the only polite thing to do…**

**On another note, this is a companion piece to another one-shot I wrote called Always. It is the mystery girl's perception of Peter and their rather weird relationship. Please read that one and tell me what you think! Okay. Last note. I promise. If I get some positive feedback from these two one-shots I'm going to write a little cookie for everyone about Christmas (since Christmas is coming up).**


	3. Snowballs and Stars

**A/N: Hello. I've decided to post this as a second chapter to both Always, and Never, because it pertains to both of them. If I add more "cookies" in future, I may just make Always and Never into one fic. But for now, you can read it twice, just make sure you review! It's only polite, people. **

Snowballs and Stars: A Christmas Cookie 

The snows glistened white and powdery on the slopes and lawns of Narnia, reaching to the east at the Cair and blanketing her in comfort and cheer. The fires of the palace were never so beautiful as when the windows were covered in a glittering frost and the blackness of the night was punctured by the soft fall of the fluffy flakes of winter.

All of Narnia, from the Lantern Waste to the Eastern Shore was gathered at Cair Paravel, leaving the country bare and empty but for the soft carpet of snow lining each hill, each tiny leaf, blurring the outlines of their shapes and merging everything together in a sea of white. The prints of all shapes and sizes, all going eastward, had long since faded as the creatures gathered for two weeks in the grounds around Cair Paravel.

The Narnians were not the only ones who came to the Cair for the famous celebrations. Men gathered from all of the lands from every corner of the world. Terebinthians, Galmians, and many from the Isles and from Archenland all feasting and laughing and trading tales and legends by a roaring fire. To all that company, nothing was better than being warm and dry by a hearth while the winds wailed to the outside world. One such night, the entire company sat on soft rugs in the Great Hall, feet curled beneath them, as they listened to Tumnus the Faun, who told the tale of the White Witch and the four kings and queens who had rescued Narnia from her cold grasp.

Three of these monarchs sat at the front of the diverse group of men and beasts, and smiled as their dear friend spoke with the eloquence of a Calormene storyteller, captivating his audience with a tale that was as well known as their own lives.

One, however, was sitting absently in the corner as his siblings and subjects laughed and gasped as one voice. He, himself, was listening to a different voice, one with softer tones than Tumnus, and, in his opinion, twice the allure. It took him several minutes to figure out that what captivated him the most about this voice were the lips from which it came.

"I am from Terebinthia," she said, staring at her hands. She was avoiding his eyes. They were too intense for her to look at just yet. They were sharp and piercing and the slightest bit hypnotic, and she wanted to be careful. "The north shore of the Island. My father is the Duke of Seancrann. I've been begging him to let me come to Narnia since you were coronated, but he said that it was too soon."

"Why is that, Milady?" He asked. He bent his head, seeking out her eyes, but she averted them skillfully.

"He wasn't sure whether to offer allegiance or not. But I longed to go. You see," here she blushed deeply, "I have always wanted to meet a Talking Horse. It was my fondest wish, when I was little to have my horse speak to me. I wanted to know what he thought of me, hauling him around the same grounds day after day…" she broke off, and grinned. He watched her, every strand of hair and the way her skin glowed in the firelight and how her lips seemed to be the most luscious pink. He realized she had finished speaking.

"Then you shall meet as many as you wish to," he said, but there was no more warmth in his voice. "Their Majesties and I would be delighted to have you become a permanent member of our Court, also. You will stay as long as you like." Abruptly, he stood up. "Excuse me."

Awkwardly they both stood and observed the formalities. Susan glanced at them out of the corner of her eye and bit back a very un-lady-like smirk. Peter was usually so confident and no one else would notice a difference, but to her he looked, so, well, stiff, as he bowed and practically fled from the room. The pretty girl with the long, auburn hair turned away from the door and Susan's attention was once again captured by the wonderful Tumnus. When she next turned to the corner, the fair girl was gone.

The following night, the Narnian fauns put on a beautiful display of the Snow Dance, where snowballs flew everywhere in the circle and no one was hit. The fauns were performing it perfectly, it was smooth and the music was jovial and the whole group was in good spirits. The four monarchs sat on chairs slightly in front of the rest, with everyone else fanned out behind them. Torches set up on the castle walls illuminated the dance, while shadows played themselves out and added a curious new dimension to the movements of the creatures in the courtyard.

And then, a snowball came soaring gracefully through the air, and hit the High King Peter of Narnia squarely in the face.

The dancing stopped. The Fauns looked guiltily and accusingly at one another, as everyone stared in slack-jawed amazement at the King's face, which was indiscernible while he wiped the snow off of his face. It was perfect packing snow, the kind which stuck to mantles and eyelashes. The visiting nobles looked on in horror. Except one, who began to laugh. Her head was thrown back, and her hair flowed down her back. Her laugh came in gasping waves, and her whole body seemed to shake with it. Susan looked on in amusement. Was this the quiet girl who had seemed so demure last night? Lucy, looking at the girl, and then Peter, began to cackle. Soon, he joined in with his ringing, clear laugh, and then the Fauns, who were merry creatures, followed suit. By the time, the girl's laughter had died away, the whole courtyard was laughing. The High King bent down and when his head came up, a Faun was caught on the side of the head with a snowball.

Then chaos reigned. No one was on a team and it was everyone for themselves. Mantles and furs swirled and the snow flew in a white and glittering barrage. Cheeks flamed with cold and heat and adrenaline, and soon everyone's hair was dripping as the snow on their heads was melted with the sweat of their exertion. Everyone stopped when she hit him in the face. It was the second time in one night and this time everyone started to laugh straight away, him loudest of all, and the fight continued, but then he looked at her and caught her eyes and her laughter died immediately and even a simple gaze from his eyes seared her with its kingly intensity. And there, she decided that she would have him. If only a little of him. Because that much intensity never lasted. It was like a lit match, flaring up quickly and burning out even faster. But the look in his eyes gave her no choice.

All through the next day he was painfully formal. The kind of formal that shattered her hopes and hurt her because how could the silliness and fun of the night before been so easily forgotten when for her it had been like the loudest note in the crescendo of her life thus far? But she held out. The ball, Queen Susan's annual Christmas Ball, was that evening, and she had not forgotten the look in his eyes, that burned like the gaze of Aslan on her soul.

She prepared as always and she wore her best gown, and a Dryad came to put some flowers in her hair. The dress was white and flowing and fell slightly off her shoulders and had a white sash. She looked so natural, as though she had sprung out of the earth. The tiny flowers glowed on the auburn background of her hair and as she twirled in front of the mirror, everything whirled together…her hair, her dress, her cool, pale, arms.

She entered the room, lit with torches and paved in marble with its pale columns and she went out onto the balcony, looking to the stars for a moment to give her strength. But she did not have time to gather it. He had seen her come in and was seized with curiousity. He had realized…

"I do not even know your name, fair lady," he said. What a horrible, pompous fool he was to not even trouble to know her name. But he knew that it wasn't true. He had only been captivated by everything else about her. Her name was insignificant to everything. It didn't even matter.

"My name is Rhiannon," she said, in surprise. Did she really never tell him? Of course she hadn't. But she had been so distracted, so bumbling and foolish around him. Had she really hit him in the face? And laughed? Looking at the seriousness of his look right now, she doubted that this Peter was the Peter she had mocked mercilessly the day before.

He stared at her. Into her eyes, her soul. It was then that he saw what he had always failed to see before. The amber flecks in her deep eyes showed him all that he needed to see, when he knew that Aslan was reflected from those eyes. He did not know what was possessing him, only that it felt like Lion's breath, only hotter and more fierce and it came from somewhere within him. He brought his hand up to brush his fingertips along her temple and down her cheekbone, and her eyes widened but she stayed perfectly, unbelievably still while the tips of his calloused fingers grazed along her jaw line to her chin.

"Dance with me Peter," a voice interrupted, and Lucy burst onto the balcony with a sweet smile gracing her features. Rhiannon looked, and suddenly Peter was two feet away from her, as if he hadn't touched her at all.

"Of course," he said, grinning, but his eyes were dark from frustration, and he took Lucy's arm and brought her to the floor. It was a wild romp of Bacchus and they twirled and swung around, breathless with laughter and fun. Rhiannon stood at the banquet table, watching the dance with a smile on her face. But then he was in front of her, breathing only a little heavily, as he asked for the next dance, and it was this time, a Christmas jig, and their arms entwined and they circled around, and she couldn't breathe for laughing, but she didn't want it to end and his eyes sparkled so magically, and he thought that nothing would ever be more beautiful than Rhiannon dancing with flowers in her hair. After this dance, the guests started filing away, exhausted, and tipsy but deliriously happy for a break in the formality of statecraft.

"Do you like the stars?" a voice whispered in her ear and seared her. "Come and see."

He led her through the corridors, grasping her cool hand in his warm one, bringing her through the sitting room of his suite out onto the balcony. The view was breath-taking. It was very high up in the castle and faced directly westward, so that nothing was in the way of the stars and the whole of Narnia.

"This is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen," she breathed. The whole of snow-covered Narnia was laid out for her to see.

"I thought it was too, until very recently," he said with a smile and turned to bore into her eyes. How she ever escaped the beautiful prison of his sparkling eyes was a mystery. They drew her in, and she could only break his gaze when their lips found each other. Then everything was lost, as his thumb brushed her cheek and her hand found the hair at the back of his head and he felt a slight pressure there and then his tongue plundered her mouth with kingly ownership and she paid her tribute. Somehow, they had moved into his bedchamber, and she was pressed against the door, desperately needing something, but not exactly sure what.

"Look at me," he said, and she struggled to open her eyes. When she did, she was lost forever. Until the day she died, she would never forget the softness that her kisses had created in the High King Peter's piercing eyes. And then his touch was blazing on her bare, cool skin, showing her no mercy and she became _thirsty _or _hungry_, but she didn't know for what, until finally, he showed her.

She felt empty. She knew that where she came from a King expected tributes of love from the courtly ladies, and she knew that she was expected to return to her chambers. She had paid her tribute. But he had worshipped her, and now, without the flowers in her hair (they were scattered all over the room and bed, there was one in Peter's hair), or her lovely gown she felt less impetuous, less giddy, though it was too late for hesitation. She sat up to go, to gather her things and return to her chamber, but his rough, warm arm encircled her waist and pulled her against him, murmuring. "Stay, Rhiannon, stay at least until morning…"

With her back pressed against his hardened stomach, and his arm around her waist solidly and possessively, she slept the best she ever had in her whole life, and was wakened the next morning in the best way possible; a tingling on her neck as he languidly kissed her.

**A/N: Okay, so maybe it wasn't so Christmas-y, but you guys wanted it. So there it is. Please review. And by the way, Rhiannon is the Celtic god of horses, and Seancrann is a made up name from Sean (old) and crann (pronounced "crown" and meaning tree) in the Irish Language. If you review, I'll love you forever, and if you want me to read any C.S. Lewis/HP/LotR fics, I will do so honestly. I love finding new stuff.**


	4. Doubt and Reality

**A/N: Hello, all. Okay. You got me. I'm turning this into a real story. I know that some of you thought that the romance was too quick, and that Rhiannon is a Mary-sue. Like any relationship, they initially were attracted to each other, yes, but that doesn't mean there won't be complications. evil grin And even though someone can seem perfect when we first meet them, inevitably everyone has flaws (even Rhiannon and Peter). Enough of my blabbering. Enjoy!**

_**Chapter 4: Doubt, Reality and the Lord of Horses**_

Yes, Your Highness. No, Your Highness. Would silence be better? A simple curtsy and a look? Should she wait for him to kiss her hand, or walk silently away with her eyes averted? It was too hard to figure this out. She should never have gotten involved with him.

Regret, cold and gnawing, ate at her belly. And guilt, overwhelming guilt, that she should be such easy prey to his every whim. When he had called, she had answered. When he had ignored her, she had waited for his attentions so complacently. He was a king, yes, but she was a woman. She had a right to constancy, to courtesy. But hadn't she suspected, forseen that this would happen? Just because he had kept her in his bed for a few extra hours did not mean that he cared. As she reflected on her numerous meetings with the High King, she remembered the flash of cold in his eyes and the abruptness of his partings. She remembered the feeling of his formality and how it had almost suffocated her.

Then she decided. It would never happen again. She would stay at the Cair, and be polite, and go out with QueenLucy or somf faunsand meet some Talking Horses.Maybe she couldlive in a herd with them for a time, if they would let her. She would pour herself into her passion: riding. Maybe she would travel, and go to Archenland. She could be so happy. So happy without him.

Yes, Your Highness. No, Your Highness.

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Peter was smiling as he dressed in his most comfortable clothes, which happened to be some of his finest. He blushed slightly as he rememberedthe pastnight with Rhiannon, but his masculine pride was rearing its head,and his blush turned into a grin. He had been worried that the morning would bring awkwardness, but he had woken her with kisses. After a whileshe hadgone to herroom to bathe. She had smiled at him before closing the door to his chamber.

The Court was quiet today. There were no festivities, no balls, no feasts. The entire Court spent the three days before Christmas in leisure. Taking advantage of his free time, Peter wanted to take Rhiannon to meet the Herd of Lantern Waste, a wonderful group of horses who grazed peacefully in King Edmund's domain. The Stallion of this herd, Ahearn, was beautiful, gracious, and deadly in battle. An impressive figurehead in Narnia. Afterwards, they would ride (not on the Talking Horses, of course) to the west, spanning across Narnia and back again for supper. Grabbing his cloak, he set out into the hallway to seek Rhiannon.

She was walking in his direction with her eyes downcast, not looking where she was going. He didn't know that it was because she was passing his chamber, and didn't want to run into him. But she did, catching his shoulder and spinning off slightly from the impact. He reached out, smiling to grab her shoulder and steady her, but she eluded his hand by curtseying.

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty," she murmured, keeping her eyes fixed on the marble floors of the hallway. Then she turned andfled down the staircase. Peter was confused, to say the least.

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Rhiannon went out toward the stables, whirling her mantle around her, and reciprocating the "good morning"s she received from some of the creatures who recognized her from the snowball fight. It seemed an age ago. Entering the barn, she pressed her back against the door and slid to the ground, slowly bending her knees.

"You are a silly, witless chit of a girl," she told herself. "To get yourself into this mess in the first place was a mistake."

"What was a mistake?" A deep voice asked. It sounded as if it were…neighing.

"Oh!" she cried softly. It was a Talking Horse, a beautiful dappled grey stallion, who stood tall and proud at seventeen hands. His head and neck were peeking out from the wall of a stall, ears pricked towards her, and there was no doorway to impede his movement. Despite the tiny blade of hay sticking out of the corner of his mouth, he looked majestic and kingly.

"I'm so sorry, er, My Lord," she said, fumbling for the correct words. How did one address a Lord of Horses? "I didn't mean to invade your privacy. Please excuse me." Mortified, she turned to go.

The horse let out a whicker of laughter. She loved that voice. "Come, come," he said,gently. "What is troubling you, young one?" Rhiannon turned, looking into the gentle eyes of the horse, and wordlessly closed the barn door.

"Who are you?" she asked curiously, cocking her head.

"I am Ahearn," the beautiful stallion said, arching his neck, as if it was all she needed to know for her to be awe-stricken.

Rhiannon went and took a grooming box from a rack on the wall, and began to curry his soft coat. After a while, the words began to spill out.

"I got…caught up in this silly dream-world. Since I've been here, I've been acting so unlike myself. I don't usually interest myself in- well, I usually just like to ride and groom and braid and clean tack, and I don't usually act the way that I did. I never did, in fact, not ever, and now reality is coming back, and I don't like it. Because I know that everything is going to change now."

"Why?" Ahearn asked flicking an ear back to where she was stroking his withers with a rub rag. "Why must everything change?"

Because I'm foolish and naïve and I'm not flirtatious or giddy or impetuous and I don't go to men's beds and he's practically bewitched me and now he's going to find out who I really am and he won't want me anymore. All this threatened to tumble out of her mouth but she clamped on it, and said only, "Because it already has. Because I did."

"No one ever totally transforms," Ahearn said. "You do not give him credit if you think he will not recognize you under a layer of barn dust with manure at your feet." She smiled, and nodded.

"Thank you so much…My Lord."

"Thank you, young one, for the grooming." Rhiannon grinned, and fled the barn in a flurry of blue and auburn.

He did not understand. There was a difference between recognition and wanting, between acquaintance and…more. Inside the barn, Ahearn snorted in amusementat Rhiannon's vanity and went off in search of a nice bran mash. Hay was so boring sometimes.

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Rhiannon's willowy Dryad brought her dinner to her chambers at her request. She had spent the day reading some of Narnia's distant and recent lore. She had been surprised to see Ahearn's name on a list of captains who fought in the war against the legendary White Witch. How strange that a warhorse, and a general of great renown, should give her advice about love? Then, she had heard that warriors and lovers each shared qualities of the other.

The rest of her evening was spent in solitary contemplation, looking up at the stars, and trying to locate the wonderful Narnian constellations from the book placed on her night-table. She didn't know who had put it there, but it took her mind off Peter for a moment, until she remembered their interlude on his balcony. Then she went to bed early.

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Peter's day had been much more busy and distracting, but it had not deterred him from putting a book of Narnian Astronomy in her chamber when she was gone during the day. The beavers said they had seen her go into the stable, but Ahearn swore that he had not come across anyone. (Horses are an extremely loyal people, and believe in keeping secrets.) His evening meal had been, as always when Lucy was present, eventful. She had invited all of the birds into the Hall to share their meal, and they had fluttered and squawked and chirped all through the meal. There had also been a slight controversy when one of the geese said that he recognized Peter's meal as his cousin, before everyone had assured him (including his cousin) that he was alive and well.

Thus the first day of their estrangement had passed. Peter knew well that Horses kept good secrets. He would visit Ahearn the next day for some advice. Maybe he would let something slip. Slipping into the sheets of his bed, Peter groaned. He could smell her, like earth and cocoa, so natural and rich, on his pillow. Damn her for this torture. What was it's meaning? Before he drifted to sleep, he thought, _She can't run away from me. I won't let her._

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The next day dawned cool and sharp, the perfect kind of winter day which has no wind and a lot of sun. It filtered through the windows of the castle, and Rhiannon rose immediately. She was determined to get out quickly, eat in the Hall before most were up, especially a certain High King, and leave for a brisk morning ride. Maybe Ahearn would come for a ride and they could talk.

But when she got to the Hall, an equally early riser was already waiting for her. His eyes glinted. He could play her game. And he could win. He still did not know why she was playing coy now, after everything had happened.

Rhiannon immediately turned to go. He pushed his way in front of her, blocking her. As he had anticipated, as soon as he was before her, her eyes dragged downwards, refusing to meet him. She dropped into a formal curtsey.

"Your Highness…" she said softly, shyly. Rising up, she turned to go, but he stepped in front of her again. If anyone else had been present it would have amused them to see such a strange dance of push and pull in that great hall. Finally, his fingers touched her chin, pulling her face upwards to meet his eyes.

Immediately she felt herself weakening. Softening. Reaching forwards to be pierced and seared and scorched. She wanted to, and for a moment she couldn't remember why she wasn't in his bedchamber every night. But then, she remembered, as she stared into his eyes that sometimes they looked cold as ice. That as soon as he knew that she wasn't what he thought, he would forget about her. And that she would be burned. Abruptly, she turned and ran, fleeing shamelessly.

"Your Highness?" An eagle had flown into the Hall and was eyeing him with one golden orb. "I was wondering if I could speak to you about the Christmas decorations for the Hall that you requested…" Peter nodded and began to listen as the eagle spoke about garlands and mistletoe and berries, but his mind was far away.

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"Ahearn!" Rhiannon called softly into the dusty, comforting barn, filled with the smell of molasses and hay. The horse popped his head out of his stall. He nickered a greeting.

"Hello, young one. You are back very soon. Everything is alright, I hope?" The girl smiled.

"Yes. I just wanted to ask you which horses are for riding? I wanted to see a bit of Narnia today, and I need to know which horse I should tack up." She wandered around, getting pieces of equipment and brushes to get her horse ready to ride. Ahearn fixed his liquid eyes on her.

"If you wish to see Narnia, you must have a guide. I will take you wherever you wish to go." Rhiannon stopped dead in her tracks. Since being in Narnia, she had begun to learn that Talking Horses were not ridden. It was like using a friend as a pack-mule. She began to protest.

"I insist," Ahearn said, tossing his head. "Come."

Just as Rhiannon mounted Ahearn outside the palace walls, and he began to canter away leisurely, speaking of the landmarks and place-names and types of trees, Peter entered the stable. He was distracted. And he had no wish to be. It was just tension, the stress of the holidays and too many guests in the castle. And a certain girl that he could not figure out. Grooming and tacking up his horse soothed him, and he led out the pretty mare for a brisk ride to the Stone Table. If he could think anywhere, it was that place, full of Aslan and solemnity.

**A/N: I hope this chapter didn't piss anyone off. To me, their relationship is full of awkwardness at the beginning b/c they're not the most experienced people. And their attraction progressed really fast. So that's a bump in the road that they have to get over before they can be a happy couple. Next chapter: Confrontations and perhaps a renewal of affection? And ACTUAL Christmas!**

**By the way, the reference to lovers and warriors is a tribute to a wonderful author, theoriginalcoda, who wrote an amazing Troy fic.**

**Also, Ahearn means "lord of the horses". It's also Celtic.**


	5. The Stone Table

**A/N: Well, here I am again, with another chapter. I have to say that I'm really enjoying this, and the feedback that I'm getting is wonderful from everyone. A big thank you to all my reviewers, you make this all worthwhile. I wanted to ask everyone, how do you like Ahearn? I was thinking of making him and his herd a major-ish part of this story, because I ride and love horses, and he sort of fulfills the selfishly written part of this fic.**

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Chapter 5: The Stone Table**

Ahearn and Rhiannon traveled throughout the Narnian countryside, taking in the rolling hills covered in snow, the frosted tree branches and glittering ice that spanned the Fords of Beruna. As they passed, Rhiannon begged to hear stories of the battle that she had read about in her books the day before, and Ahearn regaled her with tales of the battle and the aftermath.

They reached the Stone Table later in the day. In that solemn place, Ahearn became quieter, and softly spoke of the days of the Witch. He spoke of the times before her reign (horses have long memories) and how the Herd of Lantern Waste had boasted over a hundred horses of all colours, but that with her coming came the winter. Foraging had been hard and many of them died, and though the Herd had survived, mostly thanks to Ahearn and his leadership, they had less than a dozen mares, and only three foals. He himself was the only stallion left. Rhiannon felt her eyes mist with tears as he spoke of his past.

Her life had been one of privilege in Terebinthia, and her family had simply lain in wait for a century to see if the prophecy about Jadis' demise would be fulfilled. The Terebinthians she had known were very practical. They would have given their loyalty to the Witch without a second thought, and it was this, more than anything, which broke Rhiannon's heart. She was a traitor. Maybe not actively, but she had always thought that indifference was as bad as evil. And seeing Ahearn's proud crest droop under the weight of his sorrow, she felt guilty.

But the peace of their meeting was not to last. A mare whinnied from close proximity as she caught sight of the proud stallion, and riding bareback on her was Peter. He smiled as he saw her, and patted the neck of his mare, Bhrinn.

"Ahearn, my dear friend, what's this? I have never seen a Daughter of Eve on your back before." He was grinning, eyes dancing with mirth, and Rhiannon busied herself by scratching Ahearn's withers, which he seemed to enjoy. "Rhiannon," Peter was saying. She had to look up. "Will you walk with me a while? Ahearn, can you watch over Bhrinn for me?"

"With a good will, Sire," he nickered and nudged Rhiannon's toe. She slid numbly to the ground and began to trudge through the snow to a small wood where the hardened, brown ground was still visible through the patchy snow. Peter followed, feeling the wise horse's soft eyes following him. _Be gentle_, they seemed to say.

They got to the middle of the wood, hidden from the eyes of the two horses who pawed the ground and bit tiny chunks of cold grass. Peter stopped, as Rhiannon walked restlessly around, pacing.

"Rhiannon," he said, reaching out to stop her. She was like a skittish horse, she was making him nervous. She stopped, looking up at him, and for a moment there was fear in her eyes. He put his surprise aside and began to speak. _Be gentle_, the soft voice echoed in his thoughts.

"Why do you run from me?" he asked quietly, trying to let only a little of the hurt he felt slip into his voice. "What has happened to you in the past two days?" She bit her lip.

"Nothing, Your Highness," she said, but her voice was trembling slightly. "I have been courteous and polite to you these past two days." At this, she rose her chin slightly higher and looked him full in the face. Surely, he had nothing to say to that.

"I had thought that we were beyond simple politeness, Rhiannon," he said, and she heard the steel in his voice that made him such an authoritative presence. "And you had not called me 'Highness' since we spoke in the Great Hall that night." All of a sudden he looked so sad that she almost comforted him. But her pride was hurt by his inconstancy, however unintended, so she continued.

"And since that night in the Great Hall, you have alternated between cold formality and intimacy! Am I to understand that you may be icy and polite when you wish but I must always follow on your heels, to be there when you will have me and then to wait for you to change your mood when you do not?" She blazed with long-suppressed frustration and confusion. He tried to respond, to quell her fears and give her some assurance, but she couldn't stop, wouldn't stop, now that she had started.

"You are a King, and have had me for your plaything for a night, but you have no idea who I am, and have no real wish to find out! I will not wait around for you to become tired of me, or to decide that I am not who you want once you find out that the person I was that night is not the person I always am. You may be the High King, but you cannot use me at your will!" She was yelling now, knowing that she sounded irrational and overemotional. Why was it that every time she was around him she turned into a person that she could not even fathom? Why was it that she became unrecognizable to herself?

Ahearn pricked his ears at the steady noise that was coming from the woods where Peter and Rhiannon had sought their solitude. Silly girl, he thought affectionately. She's only afraid to let herself be vulnerable. So afraid that she won't let him come close. Dropping his head once more, he continued to munch the tiny tufts of grass companionably with the pretty mare Bhrinn.

Peter's mouth was gaping at her outburst. This is what she thought of him? That he took every female courtier to his bed when it suited him? What kind of King would do that to his own people? All at once, every frosty encounter she had shared with him came back to him, and he became angry.

"You are the one who has denied my every effort to get close to you! It is _you_ who has avoided me! Who has shunted me in every way. If you would like me to stop speaking to you, and stop pursuing your company, please tell me! But do think that you can just waltz into my chamber and overtake me in every way and then back out like it never happened? You cannot erase the past, Rhiannon, not by ignoring it, and certainly not by ignoring me! Do you think me so inconstant as to get tired of you so quickly?"

"You have already proved your inconstancy!" she shot back, but she was rattled at his words. Had he really wanted her the whole time? No. It was impossible. Why then, would he have been so cold after the snowball fight?

"I have proved nothing except my fear of your indifference! Why do you think I was so formal to you? Because you thought me blind to your beauty? No. It was because I was unsure. Of you, and of myself. I may be a King, but I am still only a man, and I do not know your mind. If I thought you might have been indifferent before the night of the ball, I am certainly beginning to think it now!"

"I am not her," Rhiannon said. She sounded pleading as she looked up at him. Her whole body was deflating from the stature and presence that anger had given her. She now looked merely lost. "I don't go to men's chambers. I don't dance, and I am not used to this. To men. To looking at you…" _And wanting to be consumed,_ she thought, but she couldn't say it. Couldn't.

"I have to go," she said quietly, and turned and ran towards the horses. She left Peter standing stunned, trying to figure out the meaning of her last words. Then he began to run after her.

The horses raised their heads when they saw Rhiannon running towards them, eyes misted, and Peter running after her, but too far away to overtake her. "Ahearn," she cried. "Please take me back to the palace." He looked as if he wanted to leave her there with Peter, but she looked so distressed that his great heart was moved for her, and when she vaulted onto his back he galloped away with his great stride. Bhrinn, though she was beautiful and fine-boned, could not keep up with his powerfully muscled legs. As he saw Ahearn gallop away, Peter slowly mounted and rode at an easy pace back to the castle. He would have plenty of time to confront her later. And he needed to ponder her words.

Peter wouldn't run into Rhiannon for the rest of the day or night. The Dryad who tended to her and her rooms said she wasn't feeling well after the day of riding and that she wanted to spend the night in her room, sleeping and reading by the fire. He allowed her the room that she wanted. He had decided that he was better off without her, and that he wouldn't push her into anything she didn't think she wanted. It wasn't his fault that she was slightly mental, after all. So he would ignore her and play her game of politeness and hope she would go home to Terebinthia soon.

The next day was Christmas Eve, and according to the tradition of the Pevensies, whose favourite time of the year was Christmas, the star had to be placed on the top of the tree that night after supper. It was a large tree, beautifully decorated with strings of berries and painted pinecones, and wonderful silver ornaments made by the dwarves. The squirrels had the task of decorating it, and they had done a wonderful job. The tree was in the Great Hall, and the birds had spent the entire day decorating the vaulted ceilings that were too high for the other creatures. The room sparkled and looked magical, even by Narnia's standards, and the whole country gathered there to have a meal and to watch the placing of the star on the very top of the tree.

Lucy had done it the first year, but then she said she wanted to pass on the fun. So every year Peter asked the whole company who would volunteer and then he would pick from those who offered. It was usually a creature that he could lift up to reach the tree, or a bird. Last year it had been Tumnus. The whole ceremony was entirely undignified, because usually Peter would drop whoever it was, and it wasn't very kingly to be lifting subjects into the air, but everyone had fun, and the tree looked beautiful with the gold and silver-plated star sitting on top of the deep, mossy green.

"Alright," Peter called out, eyes laughing, "Who wants to put up the star this year?" Beast noises from everywhere called out, but one person stepped to the front of the group, offering herself into his strong arms.

"I will," she said quietly. Her eyes were soft, but her chin was defiant. Even now, he guarded against his rejection. Peter wanted to say no. He wanted to show her that she had to do more than simply allow him to pursue her. But he couldn't. Not yet. Maybe when there was more than one night and an argument between them. He nodded.

"Our newest guest, Rhiannon of Seancrann in Terebinthia. You are welcome." She came forward to the cheers of the Narnians, and as he handed the star to her she whispered to him.

"I'm so sorry." He grinned. Placing his hands on her hips in a way which brought back mixed memories and thoughts, he lifted her up towards the apex of the tree. Smiling, she placed it on top, and the Narnians renewed their cheers. He loosened his grip on her, and she slid back down, painfully aware of the friction of their bodies as she was lowered to the ground.

"Who would like to hear a tale?" Lucy cried, eyes shining with the most simple joy of being surrounded by love. "Dear Tumnus, do tell us a story! About Polly and Digory!"

The whole party cried their encouragements, but Tumnus, who had had some wine and was feeling a bit sleepy and more suited for listening said, "No, no, I don't tell these stories very well. But the High King has a good voice and an eloquent style. Let him tell it!" This suggestion appealed to the Narnians even more, and at once they turned excitedly over to where the tree stood stately and tall. But there was no one there anymore. Peter was gone.

"Never mind, I'll tell it!" Lucy said, standing up, and in her golden voice she began to speak about the music and the Lamp-post as Aslan had told it to them, her eyes shining and deep, pure happiness in her heart.

Somewhere else in the castle, Peter was experiencing happiness of another kind, as in his chambers Rhiannon began to confess in a sheepish voice the feelings of her inadequacy, the confusion she had experienced as a result of his actions, and the resolution that she would trust him if he would forgive her for her recklessness.

Even though he hated it, he confessed also. How he wondered if she had regretted sleeping with him, if she hated him, or thought him weak. He confessed that he didn't know her, but that he wanted to. And he leaned down to kiss her.

That night, they both slept peacefully, Rhiannon's head falling and rising rhythmically on Peter's chest as they breathed together, limbs entangled and intertwining. And both of their mouths were curled into a smile.

**A/N: Awwww. Haha, okay, I know that was fluffy and cheesy, but… I really have no excuse for it. It' s fluff. And cheese. And I'm not apologizing. But please leave a review and let me know what you think! I know I promised Christmas but I haven't written it yet and I just wanted to put this up relatively quickly. REVIEW!**


	6. Christmas and Coinneach

**A/N: Thank you to all my reviewers! I'm so grateful to have you all around. I'm not sure I like the beginning of this chapter, it's kind of unwieldy, but you'll let me know that in your REVIEWS, right?**

_**Chapter 6: Christmas and Coinneach**_

Christmas morning was a great affair at Cair Paravel. Father Christmas came, as he always did, pulling present after present out of his seemingly bottomless bag: a history of Narnia for Edmund, enchanted to show moving pictures of the battles, a beautiful gown- made of silk and spun by unknown beings far in the East- which seemed to shimmer with the light of the stars for Susan. For Lucy he brought jewelry. A silver necklace with a pearl pendant, and long thin earrings made of the same silver with a pearl dangling at the end.

"You will become a woman soon, Little Queen," he said, face glowing with the true joy that came from making other people happy. "And for you, Your Highness," he said, speaking to Peter now, "more of a long-term gift." It was an apple. A beautiful, shiny red one, but nevertheless, just an apple. He was expecting a new bow, or a new saddle. He did not know that it was a descendant of the great tree which existed in the mountain range beyond Narnia, and that it would bloom full and wonderful and that it would be the mother of the orchard which would grow outside Cair Paravel for centuries. Nevertheless, he graciously accepted it and did not miss the keen glance that he was given. Next, Father Christmas turned to Rhiannon.

"For you, little Horse Mistress," he said, twinkling down at her. "Go to the stable later today, and you will find something that is to your liking." She grinned up at him, surprised and at once completely accepting of the fact that he knew who she was and what she wanted. She attempted a curtsy as she had been taught, wobbling a little and causing Peter to stifle a smile.

After this, came the exchange of presents between the closest friends at the Court. Husbands and wives, brothers and sisters, all shared their gifts. Rhiannon sat apart from everyone during this hour or so filled with ripping of wrapping paper and shrieks of delight and gratitude. She felt a little left out. Mostly because her family was far away on the coast of Terebinthia, but also because everyone she knew there was slightly distant. There were no hugs that bowled you over and almost squeezed out your insides. There was no careless laughter or joy-filled tears. And there was definitely an absence of the different wuffling, nickering, braying and purring noises which passed for different emotions but came out as a constant hum of happiness. So she sat in the corner away from it all, watching with a distracted smile.

Until Peter came up beside her.

He was grinning and he held out a package for her. She looked up at him from her position on the high-backed chair that was propped against the wall, stunned. "For me?" she wanted to know.

"No," he said, grinning wickedly. "It's for the chair you're sitting on. Would you mind moving?" She grinned sheepishly and grabbed at the package he offered, tearing off the wrapping. She gasped.

"Do you like it?" He was still grinning like a devil. A handsome devil. _Arrogant prig,_ she thought. _How could I _not _like it?_ But Christmas was about being nice, so she chose not to call him on it.

"It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." It certainly was impressive. It was a riding mantle, made of heavy, deep green velvet, lined with the softest chocolate brown fleece she had ever felt in her life. The collar was a little raised, to protect her neck from wind, and it was made of the same soft fleece, in the exact colour of her eyes. There was a shining silver clasp at the front, shaped like a horse's head. Propriety be damned.

She practically knocked him over with the force of her hug, wrapping her arms around him and burying her nose into his warm chest. She could feel his broad shoulders vibrating with mirth. The mantle was trapped between them, and Rhiannon felt so comforted with the feel of his arms encircling her waist and the homely smell of the fleece. He lifted her up slightly and brushed her lips with the softest, most teasing kiss she had ever received. She smiled at him. Propriety be damned.

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Peter wanted to be alone with Rhiannon, but it was a while before he could absent himself inconspicuously from the festivities. He could feel her eyes on him all the time, as he moved from person to person, admiring their gifts and wishing them well. After a few hours, when lunch was over and people began to mingle once again and sort themselves into small intimate groups, he felt it was right to leave. Glancing at her from across the room, he made his way to the door and she was instantly at his side. He moved towards the hallway that led to the personal chambers of the court, but she grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the gates.

"My present!" she laughed, so childlike, and for a second Peter was reminded of Lucy. She ran out to the stables and walked in the door, and she could not believe her eyes.

In the stall at the end of the barn, facing the front door, there was a beautiful gelding, tall and sturdy but with perfect confirmation. He looked at them solemnly with one kind eye, and pricked his ears at the movement. He was new, and Rhiannon knew that he was for her. He was a bay, of the clearest kind, with a light brown body that she knew would look red in the summer when the sun shone, the deepest black mane, tail and legs. He had no markings, save a tiny snip on the tip of his velvet nose.

But there was more. She had never received a gift from Father Christmas before, and so to make up for many years, he had outfitted the horse with saddle, bridle and saddle pad, all in smooth, buttery leather with silver accents. With his tack on, this horse would look like royalty.

Rhiannon went to meet him, putting out her hand for him to smell, and murmuring in a soft voice all sorts of compliments. Peter smiled as he watched how soft she became when around horses. It was almost as if they brought out the mother in her. She had never murmured to _him_ like that, that was for sure.

The horse began to eat her hair.

She laughed out loud as he stretched his upper lip in confusion at the strange taste. This horse didn't need gentle handling, and that was perfect. She had always preferred horses with personality. His velvet nose and lips began to nuzzle her neck and her face. She scrunched her nose as his whiskers tickled her.

"Can we go for a ride, Peter? Please?"

"Rhiannon, we're going to miss dinner, and I have to be there," he said, grinning at her enthusiasm. "Besides, you haven't even named him yet."

She looked longingly at her new treasure before turning back to Peter. "Yes, I suppose. But still…He's so beautiful, and looks as if he wants to go for a ride!"

"Why don't you give him some hay and maybe a little sweet feed," he suggested. We can go for a ride after dinner." She flashed him a dazzling smile which was only made more endearing by the smudge of dirt left on her face by the nuzzling horse, and skipped to the feed room. When she returned, carrying a mash and a flake of hay, her hair was askew; there was bran all over her gown and her black cape.

"How do you manage to get filthy after only a few minutes in a barn?" he asked her incredulously. She seemed to attract the dust and the mud, but her eyes always shone brighter the more dirt she accumulated. "You are truly a barn rat," he teased.

"Well, I cannot fathom how you could possibly be in a barn for so long without even getting a wisp of hay on you! It's impossible, unless all you do is stand in the middle of the aisle-way posing like a peacock…" She giggled at his shocked expression, while she placed the hay and feed bucket into the horse's stall.

"I do _not_ pose!" he exclaimed. She smiled at him, and walked over until she was standing very close to him. Too close. Her mouth was still curled up at one side, in a little half-smile. She reached out to stroke his cheekbone.

"I know," she whispered. "I was just teasing." He leaned forward to kiss her, closing his eyes, but when she touched his cheek, he pulled away as he felt something warm and squishy where her hand was supposed to be. "Ha!" she cried, waving her mash-covered fingers at him.

He lunged, grabbing her around the head and messing up her dark hair even more until it resembled a bird's nest. They were both giggling as they walked back to the castle. It was definitely a sight to see the High King, face covered in some sort of brown goo with his arm slung casually around a girl who looked as though she had never known civilization.

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Rhiannon had never seen so much food in all her life. She had been raised in a well-off but nevertheless practical household where money was always around but rarely ever used. To see the plates upon plates of the most delicious food she had ever tasted all before her eyes made her at once hungrier and hesitant. It was going to be a daunting task. She looked over at Edmund, who was shoveling venison down his throat as if it was endangered. _Oh well, _she thought. _I'll have to try_. Grinning, she reached towards the roast potatoes.

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Conversation over dinner was light. The amount of food to be consumed simply overwhelmed any attempts at socializing. Those who gallantly tried were answered in thick grunts in between swallows, and after a while even the most persistent of debaters was silenced. But after dinner, the din from the Great Hall was unimaginable. Almost all of Narnia had fit into this one room, and the talk soon turned to battles and wars and history. The beasts had long memories, and began to tell stories and soon, the dryads began to dance on the dais at the front of the room. They sang eerie songs as they danced, beautiful but haunting, as they swayed their branch-like bodies around the platform. They were so graceful and so ethereal that Rhiannon felt inadequate. She was stuffed with food and felt heavy and sleepy, and was envying the way everyone stared entranced at the dryads, including Peter. But then, he looked over at her with a surprisingly serious gaze, burning into her, and she was flooded with warmth. He winked, and turned back to the dryads. She smiled. They were going for a ride soon.

Rhiannon stood and left the Great Hall, touching Peter lightly on the shoulder as she made her way to the stable. She wanted some extra time with her horse. And she wanted to give him a name.

The barn was warm when she opened it, the warmth that shavings and the body heat of the horses provided. There he was, still standing with his ears pricked in her direction, like she had never left. But this time, Ahearn was there to greet her.

"Merry Christmas, young one," he said, putting out his right fore and stretching his head between his knees in an unmistakable bow. "I see you have gotten a gift."

"Yes," she said happily. "Merry Christmas to you, too! What do you think of him?"

"He is handsome, a fine horse. But he is not noble. He is brave, but he is playful and a little silly. And he is not a warhorse. War would break him. He is not meant for it." He looked at her seriously. "Take heed of that, Rhiannon."

Her look back at him was piercing. "I do not intend him for war, Ahearn. You know as well as I that the use of weapons is completely foreign to me." But then she smiled. "Is he really silly?" she asked brigtly. "I love silly horses. They are wonderful company. Thank you." Ahearn nodded and his eyes seemed more sparkly, as if he was smiling. Then he walked, neck arched and hindquarters swaying, to the castle to eat with the centaurs, who would just be starting their horse meals.

"Did you hear that?" Rhiannon whispered into the ears of her horse. "He called you handsome. And you are," she continued, tickling the bottom of his muzzle so that his lips twitched. "I'll call you Coinneach. It means handsome in the old language of where I'm from." Coinneach butted his head against her. "I'm glad you're not noble," she whispered against his cheek.

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Rhiannon felt as if everything in the world was perfect as she rode in the moonlight with Peter, the silver on their tack gleaming in the pale light. Rhiannon's mantle was warm and soft and it flowed around her and made her feel royal. She was curious about Peter and where he and his siblings had come from, so he told her what he remembered from England, and about the war and his parents, and Professor Kirke.

"Kirke?" she asked, stunned. "Digory Kirke?"

"Well, I don't know his first name, we just called him 'Professor'. But I suppose, no, it's probably true! No wonder we found the wardrobe." Peter pondered this for a moment before Rhiannon prompted him about the wardrobe.

So he told her all he could, in his own words, about the wardrobe and Mr. Tumnus and Lucy, and although he left out the extent of Edmund's treachery he told her much more. How he had been unsure about being a King or even a knight. How seeing Aslan had humbled him and renewed his doubts even as Aslan was giving him courage.

So Rhiannon became privy to one of the _real_ stories of Narnia. The whole truth, full of doubting heroes. _This really is a perfect night_, she thought.

But they should all have known that perfect could never last.

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The next day, a messenger from Calormen came to the gates at Cair Paravel. He was brought before Peter and Susan while Lucy, Edmund and Rhiannon were being taught the Snow Dance outside. The message was simple. Prince Rabadash, the eldest son of the Tisroc (may He live forever) was coming to Narnia to compete in the Winter Tournament.

Peter offered his gratitude and enthusiasm for this turn of events, but he was silent all evening, and after dinner he slipped off before even Rhiannon could notice him. Sleeping in her own bed that night had never felt so cold.

**A/N: Okay, so there it is. Please review! And, shameless non-self promotion: Check out Jillie's fics, 2 in particular: This Land (dedicated to me! I'm so honoured!) and A King to the Sea. Both fantastic and addictive. :D Also, Coinneach is pronounced "conn-ach" (like how scottish people say "och")**


	7. Rabadash

**A/N: Okay, I've been re-reading the Horse and His Boy and have decided that my story is slightly non-canon (Thanks to Francienyc for alerting me). So, please suspend your disbelief and take for granted that Prince Rabadash came before the ambassadors to treat for the marriage. Can we all do that?**

**Also. I'm not really sure how to approach this, but I can't help but notice that Lewis was kind of racist. I hate the way he depicts the Calormenes because it's so stereotypical and negative, but that's the way it's written, and Rabadash is a bad guy, so I have to keep it that way…sorry about that, but it's the way it has to be.**

**On to the chapter.**

**Chapter 7: Rabadash**

Peter sat in council with his siblings, Peridan and Sallowpad. They stood around a large mahogany table in the bowels of the castle. The room was well-lit, but had no windows, only candles. Behind them was a buffet with cold meats and bread and spiced wine, for when they would break for lunch.

"More reports are coming in every day. The Marsh-wiggles have said that they spotted one or two up near their wigwams, and that's the closest they've been in years. I fear they're reassembling their forces." Peridan was speaking about the upsurge in giant activity over the last months.

"Well," Edmund began. "They're still giving their tribute to the Crown, they haven't missed a payment, so their boldness could simply be a new comfort level with our royal persons."

"They could just be trying to lull Your Majesties into security with those payments and still be planning an attack," Sallowpad said. "There haven't been giants that far south since the days of the Witch when you yourselves drove them out into Ettinsmoor."

Peter nodded at that information, and turned to his sisters. "Ladies, do you have any counsel to offer on this matter?"

"I am no war maiden," Susan said. She preferred to be in charge of the household, the feasts, the balls and the tournaments, and to practice her archery.

"My dear brother," Lucy said, "Let us give these giants some time. Send an envoy with strength and nobility to their Chief and remind him that his place is in Ettinsmoor. Their numbers are too depleted for them to be a serious threat, but they should not go unchecked. They are, after all, your subjects."

"Yes," Edmund said. "And if the envoy is harmed, or if their leader is not humbled, or if he does not allow himself to be checked, we will march on them and defeat them once more."

Peter spread his hands out on the table and nodded again. "We will send a centaur to them. Their wisdom is intimidation enough for the weak mind of a giant. Sallowpad, you will find the centaur and inform him of his task. Have him be a warrior, but wise as well. And large, if it's possible." The raven's black eyes glittered in the candlelight.

"It will be done, Sire." Peter smiled at him.

"And now, on to more complicated business. Your Majesties are not aware, but the Calormene prince, Rabadash, is coming to the Cair this very week to meet our royal person."

"A suspicious deed, Your Majesty," Peridan said to Peter. "The Tisroc has ever been on precarious ground with Narnia. We are a thorn in his side. I fear that this cannot bode well."

Susan was not as cynical. "Rabadash is not the Tisroc, only his son. Perhaps he comes to make peace and bring friendship to our two countries, so that when he becomes the Tisroc there may be love between us."

"Does he fight in the Tournament?" Lucy wanted to know.

"Yes," Peter replied. "He wishes to enter and prove his courage. But he will be here for four days more, two before the Tournament and two after, and he wishes to stay at the Cair during his visit."

"Then by all means, we must accommodate him. For if the Tisroc is seeking hostilities with us, then we must abide by his every wish and give him no cause to be unhappy with our hospitality," Susan said. "Love may grow between two nations so close together."

"I believe it is love of another kind which pulls Rabadash to Narnia," Peridan said. "Everyone has heard of our renowned Queen Susan," here he gave a little bow in her direction, "and he may have come only to pursue a suit with her, but nevertheless we must be on our guard."

"I agree with Susan," Lucy declared. "We should accommodate him and offer him every convenience. He likely is a gallant knight, if he comes to fight in this tournament, and not preside over it like other Tarkaans."

"Very well," Peter said. "Let everyone be courteous to him, but let him never be out of the sight of one of us. I still do not trust any son of this Tisroc. He is cruel and cold. Susan, do whatever you wish to make his stay comfortable. He brings an entourage of ten. And Peridan, let it be known that our knights must be ready for a display of skill that has never been rivaled. Let every shield be polished, every wrist and shin guard be gleaming. They arrive in two days."

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Christmas was now over and the castle, which was full to bursting with animals and people of all kinds, was beginning to empty. Birds flew off from the rafters, moles and hedgehogs and beavers began to shuffle home in the snow, the larger creatures galloped off towards their comfortable beds and a warm fire.

Just outside the palace gates, Rhiannon was saying goodbye to Ahearn, who was going back with his herd to his home at Lantern Waste. There was a colourful blur of horses standing on the lawn outside the gates of the Cair. They all looked to their leader, as he bent his head towards the dark-haired girl who reached out to caress his velvet nose and his broad forehead. She ran her fingers through his forelock.

"Thank you for everything," she said sincerely. "I will miss you." She didn't want to cry or to look foolish in front of his majestic presence. "Can I come to visit you soon?"

He gazed at her so deeply and searchingly that she felt naked. "Daughter of Eve, friend of horses, you are always welcome among my people. And the Lantern Waste is only a refreshing gallop away." He nudged her softly with his head. "Take care of your charge, young one. Do not betray his trust in you. And trust in the High King. He has the heart of a lion." She looked up, surprised at his perception and his bluntness, but he was already carving a path in the snow westward, grey coat gleaming at the fore of a great equine arrow that pointed homeward.

Rhiannon stared after him for a long time, letting the soft breeze play with wisps of her hair.

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That was how Peter found her, an hour later, with his counsel finished and his mind on her. He knew that Ahearn was leaving, and knew that she would be saddened by it. He came up behind her and put his hands on her waist, murmuring a greeting into her ear. He knew that she would be upset at him for not speaking to her the night before. He had been cold, as he had promised never to do. So he was surprised when she leaned back into his chest and sighed, closing her eyes.

"I'm going to miss him," she said. "He was so good to me. He let me ride on his back…" Rhiannon was shaken by his loss, because of the unwarranted kindness he had repeatedly shown her. She was not used to such unselfish affection. And so she had grown attached to him very quickly.

"I know," he replied softly, wrapping his arms around her. "I'm, uh, I apologize for yesterday."

She pulled out of his grip and turned to face him, her eyes grave, but not flashing in anger as they had once done. "What happened?"

"The Calormene Prince is coming to the Winter Tournament. I'm afraid that there are political games afoot, and I hate games. And I am worried for Susan, who may prove too kind to ward him off, should he decide that he wants her." She nodded. She didn't know what else to say. She felt her tightly reined anger ebbing away. He had a right to some alone time.

"When does he arrive?" she finally asked, hoping to distract him with mundane questions and answers.

"The day after the morrow," he replied. He looked tired, she noticed. The weariness of stress, though, not of physical exhaustion.

"Come on," she said, taking his hand and slipping her arm in his. "You need to relax." Peter groaned.

"I know that a ride is your solution to everything, Rhiannon, but I really cannot. I am weary of talk and wish to sleep." Rhiannon laughed her clear, loud laugh, and shook her head.

"I am not going in the direction of the stables," she said. "Are you so tired that your wits are addled?" She continued to guide him through the castle until she came to his chambers, and then pulled him inside. He pushed her against the closed door and kissed her as if he wished to banish away all of his stress and lose himself in her. Soon they were entangled, her arms so tightly around his neck that they were pressed against one another. They could barely breathe, there was so little air between them. But Rhiannon returned to her senses first.

"Oh, no," she said. "Not yet." She pulled off his tunic and his shirt so that he stood in his hose. He raised an eyebrow. "Go lie down on the bed, face down." The other eyebrow came up to join the first, but he obeyed.

Then she began to massage his shoulders and back the way that the head groom had taught her to massage the horses back home, only her touch was a little lighter. She felt for the knots in the hard cords of muscle and slowly loosened them, working the tension out of them. His breathing became heavier with each press of her strong hands, until finally he was asleep. Grinning at her skill, Rhiannon lay down beside him and rested her head on his warm back. The slow rise and fall of his chest lulled her to sleep, as well. They both slumbered, oblivious to the preparations which were going on throughout the palace, oblivious to the soft voice of Susan which was projected through the hallways and chambers more than usual, oblivious to the pitter-patter of many different types of feet which carried and carted and fidgeted and fiddled with all of the little details of the castle.

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Rabadash arrived in a flurry of colour and pomp. He had come by sea, north through the Bight of Calormen on a splendid ship, and as it approached the Narnians began to hear the music which floated off the deck, and saw the dancers in brightly coloured silks as they swayed.

The Kings and Queens stood on the quay, waiting silently. Susan was smiling, in awe of the spectacle that the ship displayed, Lucy was smiling too, but in anticipation of meeting the famed prince. Edmund stood, as always a solid presence, and his face was unreadable. But Peter, who looked content and patient, had a rigidity that only a few could see was tension. He was re-creating the knots that Rhiannon had painstakingly loosened.

She stood behind the four monarchs, with the rest of the assembled Court, some Beasts and some Men. She was curious to see what Rabadash looked like. She had only met a few Calormenes, the merchants that came to sell their wares on Terebinthia. Her family had been on good terms with most of them, but they had always seemed so somber.

Finally the ship docked, and a large procession came out. The last of the group was Rabadash. He was wearing fine clothes of blue silk, and there was a sapphire on the front of his turban. He was handsome, with sharp features. Prominent cheekbones, a long straight nose, glittering dark eyes. He was tall, almost as tall as Peter, and taller than Edmund, and he was slender. His eyes immediately went to Susan, whose long dark hair was being teased by the wind on the sea.

"O Kings and Queens of Narnia, jewels of this blessed land, and friends of my father the Tisroc (may he live forever): may the sun shine long and bright on your favoured reign. I am Rabadash, and I humbly claim your fabled hospitality for my servants and I after this long journey, to prepare for the Great Winter Tournament."

_Well,_ Rhiannon thought. _He certainly is charming._ All of this was directed at Susan, who he had not yet broken eye contact with. She was looking back at him levelly, a smile gracing her lips. Susan was kind and gentle, but she relished in the attention that her beauty gave her.

Peter then stepped forward. It was time for his rehearsed play-acting. "Our royal person is honoured to have you with us for this time, short though it may be. We offer you our hospitality full-willing, and pray that you will be comfortable while you abide with us. Only name what you wish, and we will see it done, my Prince."

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Dinner was a slightly more somber affair than it normally was on the dais of the Great Hall that evening. The Calormenes were known for their grave nature, and the normal army of various animals all scampering merrily around the halls was not one which would bring a smile of amusement to Rabadash's face, like it usually was for Peter. So only one long table was filled that night: the dignitaries from Archenland and the Isles, the young knights, and a select few creatures that had the presence of mind to be proper all sat together.

Rabadash was deep in conversation with Edmund and Susan, who in particular seemed to have taken a liking to him. She was smiling graciously, and the feeling at the Table was almost entirely free of tension. Peridan was watching Rabadash intently, but other than that everyone was merry and free of care, and even Peter began to relax as Rhiannon smiled at him from beside her, and spoke about Coinneach and how she had tried to shoe him that afternoon with the help from a Dwarf.

So dinner passed without a crisis, and the next day it was planned that the entire court would go for a day-long ride around Narnia, while the knights prepared for the tournament, so that Rabadash could see a bit of the country on his visit. Later, as they all lay in bed, with Rhiannon's fingers tangled in his hair, Peter wondered if he had worried for nothing at all.

**A/N: Okay, there it is. I wanted to know your opinion about something. I was thinking of writing sort of an introspective chapter next one, during the ride, which focuses on the Pevensies and their observations of Peter and Rhiannon. Sort of like the first two chapters of this fic, but from different perspectives. But if you think that'll be boring, tell me and I'll move on. I just thought it would be a nice interlude. And please review! There are some silent people who have me on favourites/author alert lists…and I have no idea who you are! So say hi!**


	8. Perspectives

**A/N: I posted this chapter with the help of the amazing and brilliant and sweet Francienyc. Francie, you are awesome. Some of the writing belongs to her, and for that I owe her a lot. I advise you to read this again, because there's added nuance and a sort of tone difference, especially in the Susan part which might become important later on. **

**Thanks to all my readers who make my days with their kind and constructive reviews. And especially Francie, who tore this apart, and made it a lot better.**

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_Oh Peter, you look so happy today. You do not even see Rabadash ride so closely to Susan that their stirrups clank together every few steps. You have given up all your watching to smile at her, and it is good to see you happy._

_Rhiannon is exactly who I expected for you, you know. You are High King and you could have any Dryad, any Calormen Tarkheena, but you needed a girl who could make you laugh. Someone who could make you forget the weight of a country for a short minute._

_We ride along in a group, but for you the rest of us do not even exist. You look at her with awe and laughter and joy. All of the emotions that I used to think were yours and mine alone belong to her, now._

_But still, you are smiling differently than when you smile at me. Did you know that I like to study your face and your expressions? You smile at _her_ with a kind of…_intensity_. When she notices it, her expression changes. And when you gallop down the slope she is neck and neck with you for a while through the clean, white snow. You both fade into the distance._

_Oh, Peter, I think you've found your match. I love the way you look when you smile at her. I can't describe it but the closest thing I can think of is when you see Aslan. I think it's love, though you haven't discovered that yet._

_But you will. I only hope you don't forget us when you find it. I am starting to miss you a little. With Rhiannon, you gallop across the countryside, and all of us trot along behind. Stay with us a little longer, Peter, I cannot lose you to someone else. Not yet._

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_When we finally caught up to you, after your gallop, we found you both in stitches with laughter. Rhiannon was lying in the snow in her new cloak, sprawled in the white field making a snow angel. You were watching her with that look, your laughter pouring out as you held the horses. You didn't even notice the look of distaste on Rabadash's face._

_I agree that she is beautiful, and not in the way that most people are beautiful. Yes, her features are pretty, and her hair is glossy and thick, but she isn't stunning like some of the Dryads, and she isn't polished like the Tarkheenas. She's free and she's happy and she's whimsical. When she's upset, she becomes cold as winter, but it's hard to make that happen and even harder to make it last. To me, she is like Narnia itself, and a little like Lucy. But Lucy can never distract you for very long. Eventually you return to your worrying and your pacing. _

_But she arrests you, keeps you, and best of all is that she doesn't seem to try. Yesterday at dinner I watched you. Usually, your eyes are constantly scanning the tables, watching for signs of trouble, of conflict. You converse with everyone equally. You used to seem slightly distracted all the time, finding new ways to make everyone else's life better. You were trying to be strong for an entire nation, but I think you were losing the meaning of strength, you were losing your wonder of Narnia. _

_Yesterday at dinner your shoulders didn't have that tight rigidity to them that they were starting to acquire. Once or twice I saw you tilt your head back and laugh, a laugh that I haven't heard in a year, a full, clear, ringing laugh. But now you laugh like that all the time. And her laughter always joins in. It's almost childish, her laugh, but everything about her is almost childish, on that border of wonder and wisdom._

_Seeing you so carefree makes me want to congratulate you and wring your hand, though I feel foolish paying so much attention to you. And once again you've set the standard for us all. You've raised it a little higher, with your latest personal development. How am I supposed to find what you seem to have discovered and held onto? You are the pioneer of the family, charting new territories and challenging us to follow. _

_You give her a leg up onto her naked horse, your hand lingers on her thigh and she stops laughing and looks at you with courage, as if she's making a statement, making a decision. Her eyes are boring deeply into yours and I begin to feel empty. There are no eyes that eagerly seek my own. She belongs to you, I belong to no one, except Narnia._

_But that is enough for now._

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_Rabadash has been spilling words of poetry since we began our ride, you know. I don't know why you should suspect him, brother. He is courtly, he is handsome, he is dashing. Even riding along beside him makes me…well, it is new and strange certainly. I wondered for a bit why you didn't ride up and pry Rabadash and I apart. He rides so close our stirrups catch on each other, and there are lovely moments of gallantry when he pauses to untangle them. But from the look in his eyes I can see that he would rather we were bound together. Small wonder that you, ever so watchful, didn't see it. And then I see that you are only seeing her. _

_In the moments I spare for you while Rabadash speaks to me, as close as he can with horses, she is always looking at you. Her eyes dart from your face to your chest to your arms to your shoulders, raking over you, and they most often land on your face and linger there. It is almost as though she is memorizing you, seeking to create a perfect picture of you in her mind, accurate and detailed. She seems slightly disbelieving, unsure of you, and I wonder at that. Can she really not see the difference in you since her arrival here? Is she so blind, even as she watches you, that she cannot see? When she is around you, you seem less like a monarch, and more like a King of Narnia. Less like royalty, and more like a care-free man._

_She is different, too. I wonder if you remember how she used to avert her eyes. How she would always look down, left, right, always away from your inquisitive gaze. Now she meets you boldly, relishing in the eye contact. And it's strange, but you seem more confident now, too. Under her curious, serious gaze you square your shoulders and seem to breathe out the stress. All of that tension seems to have gone out of you, at least for a while._

_I can't believe you are letting Rabadash get so close. Indeed, you have barely even looked at him since Rhiannon came riding up in a lead rope and no saddle, saying she wanted to give Coinneach a break from the bit and girth. Rabadash thinks it's barbaric, but you love it, her playful side. I like it, too, it rubs off on you. And I don't complain that you've left us alone. Much like you, we ride along in our own world, full of deep gazes and pretty words that make me shiver._

_I am glad for you, brother, glad that you have begun to act like yourself again, like your old self before Spare Oom and before you had this silly notion that a King was supposed to be noble and quiet. Lucy used to pull you out of it at moments. During a Ball, you would always dance one carefree dance with her. But that is all. Now, it seems as if your whole life is a ball, your whole life is that carefree dance and we are both of us whirling on the floor with separate partners. Do you feel breathless as I do? Do you feel as if you can't go on but you don't want to stop? Are we both so lucky? _

_Rabadash reaches over to take my hand and kiss it. The way he takes hold of my hand is gentle enough, but there is something grasping in it. I notice my hand is small and very white and delicate in comparison to his large brown ones. The contrast is pretty until he covers my hand, and I feel I can't pull away, even though I'm not sure I want to in the first place. And there is something in his eyes. It is vaguely frightening and vaguely exciting. Could I dare to tease Rabadash with a toss of my head as she teases you? He looks as if he wouldn't stand for it and call me impertinent, but you laugh brightly at her words. Indeed, you seem to hear only her words. I hope that you have at least some care, my dear brother. I hope that you will remember to protect me, if I need to be protected._


	9. The Tournament

**A/N: Guys, I am so sorry for the delay, but work, school and friends have been keeping my busy. However, reading week is coming up, so expect at least one new chapter next week in addition to this one.**

**Also, I love all of you for reviewing, and if those invisible people could pop in with a few words, that would be great.**

**And now…The Tournament! dun dun dunnnn**

_**The Tournament**_

The morning of the tournament was grey and overcast, a dull sky that looked sullenly down on the company of knights, commoners and Talking Beasts as they gathered in splendid colours and fabrics. On a high dais around the ring sat three of the monarchs and select members of the Court. With Peter sat Rhiannon, dressed in her nicest gown, the same one she had worn at Christmas. There was a small wreath of red winter berries around her head, and her hair flowed free.

Tumnus was also there, and he stood protectively beside Lucy. In front of all, standing at the railing, was Susan. She wore the gown that she had received for Christmas, woven by the Stars, and she stood proud and tall and beautiful, with a gracious smile on her face. She knew that all eyes would be on her, especially Rabadash's, and she almost shivered with anticipation of seeing him parade out onto the field. She was the Queen of the Tournament that day, who presided over the contests and pronounced judgements when there were discrepancies.

All the knights soon began filing out. Edmund was participating, and he bore the standard of the Lion and his tunic was red and gold. It was a glorious procession, where contestant after gallant contestant rode by the dais and saluted to Peter and Susan. Most of the knights who strode past called out to one of the merry Queens, claiming that they would win the tournament in her name. To Rhiannon's surprise, a knight with a standard of green and gold called to her.

"Fair Lady, who wears winter's crown, I will win this tournament in the name of your beauty!" She tried not to laugh, and succeeded in nodding and smiling gracefully until he had passed, but when she saw the tightness in Peter's face, she let out a tiny giggle.

"Who is that knight?" she asked him.

"Lord Dar, a noble from Archenland who is a general in King Lune's army. He is a good warrior, but no match for Edmund. Or me," he replied, letting his annoyance slip into his voice. Rhiannon couldn't help her next words.

"He's handsome," she said idly, looking out onto the field where he sat on his horse. Peter's head snapped in her direction, staring at her incredulously.

Rhiannon's sympathy vied with her love of mischief and won. She leaned her head on his shoulder and laced her fingers in his. "In a girlish way…" He tweaked her in the side.

"You enjoy goading me?" He asked, even though she could tell he was smiling.

"You are easily goaded," she replied, laughing softly.

"Only when it comes to you," he whispered in her ear, and she flushed with pleasure at the compliment. She had nothing to say to him after that, so she turned and watched as the knights drew for the sword matches, and the horses were led off the field by the pages.

"Rabadash's mount is bound to go lame," she commented. "He has a sway-back and his legs are too fine for the joust. He won't be able to stride out with all of that armour and Rabadash's weight on him."

"He claims that the horse is well-tested in battle," Peter shrugged. He didn't know as much as Rhiannon about the confirmation and care of horses, though he was an excellent rider, and he couldn't easily see what she was pointing out.

Dar was first, fighting against a Narnian knight, and he saluted the dais before he walked into the small ring which served as the fencing area. Both men had chosen broadswords as their weapon, and now they both began to circle one another, watching each other's muscles movements. Then suddenly, like a strike of lightning, they were furiously battling. The armour clanked and the swords flashed in the weak sunlight that was just beginning to shine.

Rhiannon had never seen a tournament like this before, and she was enthralled. It was exciting to watch as the knights parried back and forth in a flurry of blows, each one trying to gain an advantage. It was almost as if they were dancing an elaborate waltz, one giving ground and the other taking. She thought it was beautiful to watch from an outsider's perspective, but on closer look, both men were sweating under the weight of their swords and their armour, and their agility was costing them precious energy. Beside her, she could feel the muscles of Peter's arms and torso tensing as he watched the Narnian knight intently.

Dar was gaining an advantage; he was younger and more fit than this Narnian, and it was beginning to be painfully obvious. The crowd was merry and good-natured- they loved tournaments- and so they cheered for both contestants, shouting words of encouragement. When Dar won, after drawing first blood, the crowd cheered for him with as much enthusiasm as if he had been Narnian.

All day the fights went on, with Peridan, Rabadash and Edmund excelling. Edmund beat the Lord Dar, to the extreme satisfaction of Peter and the amusement of Rhiannon. She laughingly told Peter that his standing ovation had been a little excessive, even if Edmund _was_ his brother.

Peridan and Rabadash fought for the privilege to beat Edmund in the final battle. It was a good fight, almost evenly matched, and Peridan was a great warrior. However, he was bigger and heavier than Rabadash, whose lithe body was simply too quick for Peridan. In a real battle, Peridan usually carried a great axe, and simply hacked his way across the field, but here, where agility and movement counted, Rabadash had the upper hand. Eventually Rabadash snaked his sword in and nicked Peridan underneath his arm.

"Congratulations, Prince Rabadash," Susan beamed down upon him as he walked to the dais. "In an hour's time you will duel against my brother, the King Edmund. Please accept this as a token of my admiration for your courage." She dropped a white rose down to him, which he caught in his gauntleted hand, and still panting from exertion beamed at Susan and waved at the crowd, bowing. They cheered him unanimously.

Peter's eyebrows were raised in surprise. He didn't want to admit it, but he was slightly impressed by Rabadash's gallantry. He hadn't expected this show of humility from the eldest Calormene prince.

Susan called out to the entire company. "Lunch is being served in the Great Hall for everyone! Please proceed inside while the contestants prepare for their duel." The crowd cheered again, the bears loudest of all, and everyone went inside. Peter placed his hand on the small of Rhiannon's back. She turned to look at him.

"I am going to help prepare Edmund," he said to her. "Go inside and have some lunch. I will see you back out here." She smirked at him and kissed his cheek. Such pride. But as she turned away he grabbed her and pulled her behind the curtain that enveloped the throne he had sat on, covering his mouth with hers. Her eyes fluttered open in surprise at his urgency, but as he pressed his lips in the hollow of her throat, nipping and tickling, she sighed, tilting her head back in simple pleasure. He was much too good at getting under her skin. Only when she began reaching under his tunic, running her hands over his chest and shoulders did he pull away. "I missed you," he mumbled into her mouth.

Rhiannon walked rather disjointedly back to the Hall, her "winter's crown" slightly lopsided. She caught it in a mirror and was fixing her dress when Lucy came out to greet her.

"Oh!" she said, smiling brightly. "I didn't realize it was you, Rhiannon. Come in, there's a seat beside Tumnus and I." Rhiannon nodded her head in acquiescence, and smiled graciously, but she suddenly felt nervous. There was absolutely nothing intimidating about the golden-haired girl standing in front of her, who was all friendliness and warmth, but that very fact made her seem slightly unreal. And Peter always spoke of her with a border-line reverence that put pressure on her.

She reflected later that she had had nothing to worry about. Lucy was bright and cheerful, asking her questions about Terebinthia and in turn talking about her different Narnian friends. Their conversation was peppered with Lucy's interruptions as she called out greetings to the many creatures who walked by and lingered to bask in her innocent glow. Lucy knew them all by name, and asked after their family, their friends with concern. Rhiannon sat in awe of her care for each of her subjects, and impressed by her ability to remember little details of all of their lives. The state of Pitterthwaite's nut stash for the winter, depleted because of an ache in his left hind leg, the health of Twigby the Beaver's mother. All of the Beasts had stories to tell, and she knew them all.

It was not long before Lucy brought up Rhiannon's knowledge of horses.

"I have heard from my brother that you are a great horsewoman," she said, tucking her golden hair behind her ears. "And you are a wonderful rider, I saw that on the hunt yesterday."

"I merely love them, Your Majesty," she said, blushing. "What little I know the horses themselves taught me- with many bruises and falls in the process." Lucy rewarded her with a laugh, and Rhiannon noted how her whole face lit up, how her whole body seemed wracked with mirth.

"I was wondering if you could look at my horse, Glade, when this tournament is over and we both have time to spare. She has seemed melancholy of late, and has taken to bucking. And I don't think there is anything wrong with her legs or feet. I groom her when I can, and when I can't, it still gets done every day by someone else. I have never noticed anything out of the ordinary." She seemed to wilt more with every word. Rhiannon was beginning to understand this little Queen. She wore her heart on her sleeve. She could see why Peter wanted to protect her so much.

"Of course, Your Majesty, I would love to. And if I cannot find something wrong, I am sure that Ahearn would be able to see what is wrong with his own kind." Lucy was looking up at her now, and though her eyes were glassy, she was smiling.

"Oh, dear Ahearn, I love him so! When the weather improves, you and I should travel to Lantern Waste together to see him and the herd, and we can stay at Tumnus' old house. He lives here in the palace now, but he does go home occasionally, and it would be a merry journey. We can visit some creatures and you can become more acquainted with Narnia. There is nothing more beautiful than Narnia in the spring."

They chattered away for the rest of lunch, and Lucy found herself relaxing more and more with Rhiannon. She was kind and interesting, and she had a merry laugh that she used often. And she would not take Peter away from the family if she was brought into it. So Lucy decided that rather than lose a brother, she would gain a sister.

Peter looked concerned as the group of miscellaneous creatures filed back towards the tournament grounds. Edmund and Rabadash were waiting in their separate areas, and Susan had gone to wish Rabadash luck, trying to quietly slip away when Peter wasn't looking. He had seen her, but somehow felt that it was not his job to interfere. After all, she was a woman in her own right.

Susan slipped back to the dais where the rest of the Court was waiting, looking slightly flushed, with a glow in her eyes. Peter narrowed his eyes. But all too soon she was calling out the champions to the dais. She tossed another white rose to Rabadash, who accepted it with gallantry. To Edmund she gave a gracious smile, which had steel behind it. _If you get hurt, I will kill you_ was the general impression that Rhiannon got. Edmund must have understood, because he grinned rakishly and nodded to her before they marched over to the sword ring, mail clinking with each step.

It was one of the most beautiful and terrifying things that Rhiannon had ever witnessed. These two men, in the flower of their skill and youth, parrying, dodging blocking and lunging in graceful steps, their agility and speed apparent to all. It was impressive and truly magnificent to watch, and if Rhiannon had not been invested in one of the fighters she would have been content to watch and listen to the hypnotizing flash and clank of the swords as they arced together and apart, first high, then low, swiping and now stabbing sharply. But as it was, she became impatient, waiting for it to end. Once again, Rabadash's build and weight was an advantage to him, and though his skill was not on par with Edmund's, he was better at dodging in the spacious ring.

Rhiannon and Peter were both surprised to find both royals grinning at one another in the ring. They were truly enjoying themselves, though it was dangerous and the sweat was pouring down their faces. The crowd soon saw this and began their good-natured jeering and encouragement. The squirrels (who must always contribute their opinion) chattered advice to Edmund on his footwork, being agile creatures. Lucy was grinning too, she loved to see any of her siblings happy, and she was amused by the crowd.

Finally, in a neat trick, Rabadash swung his sword down towards Edmund's feet, causing him to dodge. In that split second, he swung his sword up and knocked Edmund's blade out of his hand, while Edmund was still off balance from the dodge.

"A worthy trick," Peter muttered to Rhiannon. "But he wouldn't have fallen for it if the sweat hadn't gotten in his eyes." He got to his feet, applauding with a gracious, kingly smile on his face that Rhiannon was beginning to see was his default smile. She followed suit, trying to look as gracious as possible.

The night was spent in laughter and whispered conversation, and everyone went to bed early to rest from the long day. The Lord Dar spent his dinner staring at her, and making awkward attempts at conversation, and Rhiannon was never far from laughter, between Dar's social awkwardness and Peter's increasingly darkening expression.

When they went up to his chambers, he showed her how much he had missed her that day, and just how much Lord Dar paled in comparison to his strong arms. The sleep she fell into was heavy and perfect, as she felt Peter's unyielding chest and abdomen at her back, and his arms around her waist and on her thigh.

The next day would be the joust, the real prize of the Tournament.

**A/N: Again, I'm sorry. I wanted to have the entire tournament in one chapter, but realized that it wouldn't do, because I've been planning something specific for the joust, and need more space than this chapter would allow to put it in. **

**So bear with me, and the next part of the chapter should actually be up very, very soon. Please review, lovelies!**


	10. The Joust

**A/N: Here it is, as promised! This chapter was hard to write, so if anyone has any suggestions, it may be edited and reposted.

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_**The Joust**_

Rain drizzled onto the field softly but persistently all morning. The day was just warm enough to prevent snow. Peter stood at his window and looked out as fauns erected huge canopies over the stands and the dais where the Court would sit. The creatures of Narnia had appealed to Susan this morning and asked her if she thought that the tournament should continue, and she had answered in the affirmative, and asked that the shelters be erected to ensure the same crowd as the day before.

So the knights were eating a light breakfast in one of the smaller halls in the palace while creatures filed into open palace gates and made their way over to the stands. Soon the ground, newly exposed by the rain, sported muddy footprints in all shapes and sizes.

Rhiannon joined Peter at his window, leaning back into his chest and closing her eyes. He folded his arms around her and she sighed, smiling. If it was up to her, she would just keep him there in his chamber all day. She was tired, and she liked using him as a pillow.

"It's going to be hard on the horses today," she said without opening her eyes. "The ground is going to be soft, there won't be any traction. It's dangerous." He kissed the top of her head.

"All tournaments are dangerous. Don't worry, our horses have those special shoes on them, they have corking in them to stop them from slipping. And the knights will be careful."

Rhiannon pressed her lips together tightly but didn't say anything. She personally thought it was selfish of Susan to order the Tournament to go on when she was putting the horses in so much danger. If it had been her decision, she would have postponed it for at least one day. _Perhaps one day it will be your decision._ Her eyes snapped open with the realization of that thought. _What in the name of Aslan did _that_ mean?_

"Come on," Peter was saying. "We have to get ready." He kissed her one more time, letting his hands linger over her stomach and hips, and then sent her on her way. "Wear the blue dress," he murmured in her ear. "I like it." She shivered and walked out the door, still reeling.

_Why does he always do that to me?_ she asked herself.

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Rhiannon had been right. The joust was particularly dangerous that day. The knights were only cantering, not their usual full gallop towards one another, and more than once the knights had veered away from one another when a horse had almost slipped. Edmund was doing well, probably best so far. He had faced two other knights, and beaten both of them. One of these was the Lord Dar again, but Peter's face was so grim and tense that he had barely applauded. He just wanted the day to be over with.

Rabadash had been doing well once again. His horse was struggling slightly more than the others, but Rabadash was riding him well and carefully, once again impressing Peter. He was now facing Peridan, who was by all accounts a sub-par horseman. His specialty was the axe, and his talent with that was renowned throughout all Narnia, but he considered the joust to be incomparable with the real business of war.

However, Rabadash didn't know that. He only saw the hulking Narnian knight on a huge, heavy charger, and all of the caution he had exhibited went out the window. He wanted to win this tournament, and he _would_ win. Once he beat Peridan, he would face Edmund for the championship.

Both knights saluted the dais with their lances, but whether by some oversight by Susan or an honest display of her affections, she only recognized Rabadash, beaming back at him and raising a hand.

Down went their helmets, up went the lances, and the horses began cantering slowly towards one another down the small fence with its flags waving in the wind. The vision of the knights was slightly blurred, with their helmets and the rain restricting their sight. Rabadash began picking up speed. His noble charger was stretching out its neck and striding out, and his lance connected soundly with the breastplate of Peridan, who was knocked off balance in the saddle and only just managed to stay on. Rabadash had won the first lance. As he turned his horse around to face Peridan once again, the horse skidded slightly, straining the tendons in his cannon bones.

Rhiannon squeezed Peter's hand when she saw the turn. "He is turning too sharply," she whispered in a harsh voice. "He's going to make that horse go lame if he's not careful!"

"He's been riding well all morning," Peter said, trying to soothe her. "He'll be fine, and so will the horse." But Rhiannon continued to mutter darkly under her breath, glaring. _Damn but she's protective, _he thought.

The two knights squared off one more time. Rabadash was fairly galloping, and the lances collided with a mighty crash. No one saw exactly what happened, but Peridan fell off his horse, unconscious with his foot still in the stirrup. Rabadash was still on his horse, but something was horribly wrong. People began to rush onto field. Peter was startled to see the flash of a blue dress as Rhiannon jumped off the dais and ran towards Rabadash.

In a second, everyone saw. Lucy watched with her mouth open as Rhiannon snapped at Rabadash, and began to feel the horse's left foreleg as he dismounted. She was furious, fairly fuming, and Lucy found herself to be slightly afraid for the Calormene Prince. She couldn't hear what was being said, or what Rhiannon had noticed, but she saw the anger die and become quickly replaced by wide, glassy eyes. She wrapped her arms around her body, as though just belatedly noticing the cold rain beating steadily down on her, and she said something else to Rabadash, this time in a small, soft voice, her lips quivering. She couldn't understand what had made Rhiannon snap so suddenly at a _Prince_ that way, especially one who was visiting and courting the eldest Queen. Peter had joined Rhiannon now, and he sent her to stand underneath the shelter as he spoke with Rabadash. Edmund and Susan were taking care of Peridan, but Susan's glance strayed to Rabadash constantly, and Edmund had to tell her to pay attention several times.

"…leg is broken," Rabadash was saying to Peter. "What can you do for him?"

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid we have nothing that can heal him. There is nothing to be done but put him out of his misery." Several animals had taken off the horse's tack and armour, and it now stood quite naked and sad-looking, its neck drooping down with rain dripping off its mane. Peter looked at the horse and felt his heart begin to break.

"I am so sorry, my lord." Rabadash actually looked upset. His head was drooping almost as much as the horse.

"Thank you for your concern, Your Highness," Rabadash said, heaving a great sigh. "The world is darker in my eyes without him racing across the desert like a blazing flame." Peter felt for him, felt his anguish, and his helplessness. But then he raised his eyes and there was hardly any grief buried in their depths. There was only determination. "If it pleases Your Highness, O great King of the North, I would borrow another horse from you in order to finish the Tournament in my horse's honour and memory."

Grooms were taking the poor, hobbling beast off the field. It struggled with every step, and his heart was moved with pity. He spoke without hesitation. "Of course, my lord," he said graciously, nodding his head. "Pick a horse from our stables and it is your for the rest of the day." Rabadash favoured him with a ghost of a smile, and nod of thanks. Together they walked to the stable.

When they opened the door they found that Rhiannon was already in there, head buried in her hands, sitting in front of Ahearn's stall. How she wanted him then with his words of wisdom and comfort!

Rabadash walked around the stable until he came to Coinneach's stall, taking in his sturdy legs and well-conformed body.

"Here is a fine beast," Rabadash proclaimed. "I will take him, O King of the North."

Rhiannon looked up then, startled and alarmed. Ahearn's words of warning came back to her in an instant. _"War will break him. He is not meant for it." _

"Your Highness," she said, curtseying, knowing she looked ridiculous with her face streaked with tears and rain, with her dress soaked and dirty. "May I speak with you for a minute?"

Peter nodded tersely and she pulled him into the tack room, shutting the solid door behind them. "He can't take him," she said immediately. "I won't let him. Coinneach is my horse, and if you must risk the life of another innocent animal on this folly, then it shall not be my animal's life! He was just given to me, and I will not let you take him away!" She knew she sounded petulant and silly and stubborn and childish. She didn't care.

Peter looked at her intently. Her eyes were blazing, but every other part of her looked sad and helpless. She was just a small person in a vast kingdom, a pawn of the politics that demanded he give Rabadash whatever he wanted. He couldn't look at her and stay diplomatic, but he couldn't look at Rabadash and tell him that he couldn't have the horse because his lover wouldn't give it up.

"He's not meant for war," she pleaded in a softer voice. "It will destroy him." Once more, she looked at him full in the face and realized that despite the fact that he was only a man when they were in his chambers or riding alone, he was always still a King. She sighed, opening the door and leaving silently. She looked utterly defeated. Peter watched in the doorway as Rhiannon brushed past Rabadash wordlessly and went into Coinneach's stall, cooing and murmuring, scratching his poll. Then she looked at Rabadash and held out her arm, indicating that the path was clear for him to enter.

Coinneach tried to eat his ear. Rhiannon tried not to let the strangled laugh escape her lips. Then she left.

She went into the castle and changed her gown, freshening her face and brushing her hair to look presentable once again. When she got back to the dais, the crowd was assembled again, and was awaiting Peter and Rabadash. And Coinneach. Lucy looked at Rhiannon with concern. She looked dull, for want of a better word.

"Are you alright?" Lucy asked her, moving to sit in Peter's chair beside Rhiannon. She nodded but didn't speak. "Are you sure? Is something wrong? You can tell me," Lucy continued in a soothing voice. To Rhiannon, the sound grated on her.

"Please, Your Highness, I only wish to sit in peace at the moment," Rhiannon said in a tired voice.

Lucy stepped back and went to go stand beside Tumnus. She was used to comforting people, to people allowing her to comfort them. She was taken aback, didn't know how to handle the rejection of her offer to help. So she watched as Rhiannon's mouth grew thinner and her shoulders slumped more and more.

Finally they came out. Coinneach looked regal with his armour and his tack polished and gleaming. But Rhiannon didn't notice. She only looked at his eyes and how there was a faint rim of white around them, and at how his head was raised higher than normal and his ears were flicking back and forth in alarm. He wasn't used to the noise coming from the crowd and the heavy armour that clamped around his body like a cage. She looked away, couldn't watch. _You bastard_, she thought, not knowing whether she meant Peter or Rabadash.

It happened all too quickly. They charged; Rhiannon closed her eyes. The lances came up and Peter watched as Edmund's horse carried him steadily towards Rabadash. Coinneach was having trouble keeping a straight course. He was nervous, and Rabadash was getting frustrated. The two royals weren't grinning now. They looked grim and sure, and Coinneach was tossing his head about as the lance came straight towards him. At the last moment, he reared up to protect himself from Edmund's oncoming lance, and threw Rabadash to the dirt. The mud was giving way as all of his weight balanced precariously on only two hooves, but he came down solidly from the rear and the crowd let out a collective sigh of relief as Rabadash got to his feet.

As custom dictated, the two knights continued the joust on the ground, this time using their swords. They had discarded the helmets, and Edmund's dark hair was a moving, blurry mass. Peter's knuckles were white, he didn't know if he was more concerned for himself, Rhiannon, Coinneach or Edmund. Rabadash was no longer even a factor. He hoped to Aslan that the horse was okay, for the sake of everyone. She would never forgive him if something happened.

He turned to look for Rhiannon, for a moment ignoring the clang of the swords in front of him, but found that she was gone. She was in her chambers now, watching from the window, wet and cold but oblivious to it.

Finally, Rabadash's stiffness from the fall took a toll on his skill and legendary speed with the blade and was defeated as Edmund disarmed him with almost the same trick that had caught him the day before. The crowd erupted in cheers and Susan embraced Edmund and then Rabadash, but Peter could only use his default smile as there were handshaking and congratulations all around. The whole group went to the castle to stay dry and feast, and Peter went with them, but his chest felt tight with guilt. Still, he had responsibilities that he had to attend to.

Rhiannon slipped out of her room when everyone was dining and went to the stables. She saw Coinneach there, in his stall, his tack still on. He was dripping sweat and rain with his nostrils blowing and his head drooping down. Her heart broke. She began wildly taking off his tack, murmuring soothing words of nonsense, whether to herself or to him she didn't know. Somewhere between taking off his bridle and lifting the heavy saddle off his back she began to cry white-hot tears.

But she continued to care for him and when she had rubbed him down and put his blanket on and made him a hot mash she sat on the trunk of supplies outside the stall and buried her head in her knees until she stopped crying. Three hours later she started again when she realized that Peter had not deigned to come looking for her.

She slept in the barn.

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**A/N: So ya, angsty, I know. But it's there for character illustration and development, and I think that a certain amount of angst is necessary in these chapters, or else, to quote Amy Sherman Palladino (of the fabulous Gilmore Girls) they'll just stand there going "You're prettier. No you're prettier," and that's boring. Agreed?**

**The Lucy parts in this chapter are dedicated to Francienyc. See what I mean, Francie?**

**Review, please! Oh, and as much as I'm against censorship, I think I should take down the "not impressed" review. I have a sneaking suspicion it's from a flamed author or one of her fans, and that's really immature. What do you think?**


	11. In Hiding

**A/N: Hello all! I know it was a while for the update, but I'm doing pretty well considering my track record :hangs head in shame:. This chapter has a lot of Edmund in it, and I really love Edmund. I hope you like my Edmund. Let me know! **

**This chapter is dedicated to Jillie, who inspired me to stop procrastinating with her great emails. Yay, Jillian!

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**_Chapter Eleven: In Hiding_**

Edmund found Rhiannon the next morning, curled up on her tack box, her dirty face run through with streaks of tears. Her hair looked as if birds had been nesting in it, and the deep green dress she had changed into was ruined. He looked at her affectionately, sadly. She looked as if she had spent most of the night in distress, and was finally peaceful.

His gaze was pulled to Coinneach's stall, where he was lipping half-heartedly at his hay. Half of the bran mash he had been given the night before was still there, now cold. The poor beast was in shock, but he would recover, given a few days. At least he had eaten something. Edmund opened the stall door in order to say hello, but at the sight of him Coinneach began backing up, head raised, eyes rolling in his head. He whinnied. Rhiannon was startled into consciousness, and took in the scene before her.

"Your Highness, what are you doing?" she asked, slightly suspicious but mostly still groggy and confused.

"Edmund please, Rhiannon, and I came only to see how my horse was doing from the joust yesterday, but then I stumbled upon you. Why did you spend the night in here? You must be cold," he said, the concern evident in his voice.

"I came to care for _my_ horse," she said defensively, "and then I must have fallen asleep. The heat from the horses kept me warm. I'm fine."

Edmund looked at her searchingly. "Just so you are aware, Rhiannon," he began tentatively, "Peter did not want to give Coinneach to Rabadash. He has responsibilities, though, and his duty is to the stability of the relationship between Calormen and Narnia-"

"I know," she broke in, her voice more gentle. "I wouldn't have given Coinneach to him, otherwise. But- never mind. I'm fine." She did _not _want to be discussing this, with Edmund of all people. Her lover's brother…

"Please continue, Rhiannon. We all need to speak our minds once in a while, and you have few that you can confide in, now that Ahearn is gone." Rhiannon looked up in surprise. Since when did he know how close she was with the Stallion of Lantern Waste? Sighing, the words began pouring out, and she couldn't stop them.

"I know that he had a responsibility, but I had thought that he would have made sure that Coinneach was alright after the joust, and when I came into the stable, he still had his tack on, and he was sweaty and wet and cold…" she was sniffing now, the tears were welling up again. Roughly brushing them away, leaving more streaks of dirt on her face, she continued. "And then after I had spent an hour or more taking care of him, I sat here, thinking that he would come to me, apologize, but he didn't. And then I fell asleep waiting for him." She omitted the fact that she had been crying. She hated getting emotional, especially in front of people that she respected. Rhiannon wanted Edmund's good opinion.

"You must give him a chance to explain, Rhiannon," he said. "He probably feels guilty and doesn't know how to approach you. Maybe if you approached him-" He was cut off once again.

"I will not approach him!" she exclaimed. "Coinneach faced something which he should never have had to, that everyone knew he couldn't handle. Peter put him into danger, knowing that I value him above all else. If he wishes to apologize to me, then I will forgive him, but I won't go to him begging an apology." She turned to the stall, where Coinneach had calmed down, and began to nuzzle her. She cooed to him, and removed his blanket. Ignoring Edmund now, she reached for the grooming box outside the stall and began to curry him, taking off the dried sweat and returning the sheen to his mussed coat. Sighing, and knowing that the conversation was done, Edmund went into his horse's stall and they both groomed in silence for a while. Rhiannon stole glances at Edmund as he carefully raised each of his horse's hooves, thoroughly running his hands over the legs to check for swelling or pain. He used a coarse brush to get all of the dirt out of the creature's feet, and smiled distractedly as the horse nosed Edmund's back. Rhiannon felt herself softening to the kind man who obviously cared for his horse. It was, for her, a measuring stick for the judgment of character.

"I'm sorry," she said, all her anger gone. "I shouldn't have yelled at you."

"It is forgiven, Rhiannon. But you should consider speaking with Peter. He knows that he did you wrong, and I believe that you must give him the courage to apologize. He cares very much for you, I believe. I think he-"

But once again, he was interrupted. The light coming from the open stable door was obscured by a large and graceful figure.

"Ahearn!" Rhiannon cried, running towards him. She hugged him at the base of his shoulders around his arching neck and he pushed his head down to nuzzle her back and lip at her hair. "Why did you come back? Is everything alright? Ahearn, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean for it to happen, but Rabadash used Coinneach in the joust and now he's not eating properly and I'm afraid. Is he ruined, Ahearn? Will he never be the same?" All of it came out in one rushing breath.

"Hush, little one," his deep voice said. "Where is he?" She led him over to the stall where he still lipped at his hay, and Ahearn looked at him, nosing him and blowing air into his nostrils. He turned back to Rhiannon. "He will be fine, but you will have to teach him to trust again." Edmund came over to look at Coinneach and at once he recoiled to the back of his stall.

"He does not trust knights anymore," Edmund said.

"I fear he may not trust any man for some time," he said. "You must work with him, Rhiannon, for he loves you and trusts you, and in time he will be the same as he once was. Horses are forgiving creatures." She nodded. "Get Peter to help you accustom him to men once more. I am sure in one or two months he will be fine." She nodded, but her mouth became tight, and she looked to the ground.

"What brings you to the Cair?" Edmund asked.

"The High King called for the war captains to come to the Cair to discuss the giant problem. The envoy came back unharmed, but they refused to meet with him, and only told him that they were paying their tribute and were not disturbing any creatures, therefore they had a right to travel freely around Narnia as they wished. We need to discuss if any action must be taken to correct their misconceptions."

"By law they do have that right. Narnia is a free place for all creatures who live here, and so they must be given free reign to go where they please," Edmund countered.

"Well, we should all head up to the main building, then," Rhiannon said. "Aslan knows I need to clean myself up."

They all walked up together, Rhiannon chattering away to Ahearn about Lantern Waste, asking about the mares and the foals and scenery. Finally, Ahearn offered to take her back to the herd for a few days to see how they lived their lives. Rhiannon agreed immediately, on the condition that she could bring Coinneach for some relaxation and rest.

By the time Rhiannon got into her steaming bath with a groan, she was feeling much better. Ahearn had come at the perfect time, and a few days away from the Cair could only do both her and Peter some good. She still didn't know how she felt about him. Everything was swirling inside her, indiscernible and confused. She felt a tightness in her chest every time she thought of the incident of the day before, but she couldn't place whether she felt betrayed, angry, or sad at the realization that she would never be his priority. It was all too mixed up.

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Peter was pacing in his chambers, waiting for his captains and generals to assemble when there was a knock at the door. Edmund walked in without waiting, looking slightly disturbed and not a little uncomfortable.

"What is it, Ed?" Peter asked.

"The captains are here," he said. "We should go." They started walking down the passageways of the apparently deserted palace, taking twists and turns through the marble-covered halls. Peter was waiting for Edmund to speak; he clearly had something to say. After a while, Edmund began hesitantly.

"I happened upon Rhiannon this morning," he said, gauging Peter's reaction. He didn't say anything. "She slept in the barn last night." Aha. At that, Peter's head snapped up in alarm. "She was waiting for you to go to her, and then fell asleep."

Damn. Peter ran a hand through his hair and scrunched his eyes closed in frustration. He didn't need all of this pressure. He had giants to deal with and an angry, careless girl to fret over. It was too much.

"Peter?" He looked over at Edmund.

"What would you have me do about it, Ed?" We have a counsel to preside over. We have responsibilities, a duty to our captains. I cannot simply run off to-"

"You spent three hours in the Great Hall feasting last night before the centaurs came back. You could not have gone to her then?" Edmund looked at him levelly, voice still calm, still rational. Peter sighed. "Do not use your kingdom as an excuse for your fear of her anger, Peter. The longer you wait the worse it will become for both of you. Besides, she is leaving today with Ahearn to visit the herd. After the council you must find her." Peter's body noticeably tightened, but he nodded tersely and walked on in silence. Edmund followed, and together they went into the large room, the captains standing to greet them.

Peter was visibly tense and slightly distracted throughout the proceedings of the meeting, and it was making him more and more frustrated. He needed to focus on the tasks at hand, but he couldn't push the picture of Rhiannon, looking distraught and terrified, from his mind. With effort, he thrust his concentration back into the discussion at hand.

In the end, they decided to put off any attack of the giants. They seemed peaceful enough, and had not violated any laws or customs of Narnia. Edmund in particular did not want to create a reputation of being war-mongering, especially when it came to war on their own subjects. Peter relented, and the subject of giants was postponed for the time being. All of the captains began to disperse, and Peter walked out with Ahearn so that he would be guaranteed a meeting with Rhiannon before she left. They found her waiting outside with Coinneach, bareback once again with only a lead rope tied to his halter and no bit. She seemed to shrink with every step that Peter took towards her.

Ahearn looked at the pair with clear, dark eyes. "I am going to get a morsel of sweet feed before we leave," he said, to no one in particular, and walked off towards the stables, where a groom got him a little bucket and a sack of grain to take back to the herd.

Peter looked at Rhiannon. She looked lovely, if not a little tired. Her hair was clean and flowing again, and her dress billowed around her in the slight breeze. She was wearing his cloak. He didn't know if that meant anything, and he spoke haltingly. "Hello," he said. She didn't frown or smile, just nodded. "I heard you slept in the barn. Are you alright?" Again with the nodding. He needed more encouragement from her. "Is Coinneach alright? He looks better today."

Finally, some words. "Ahearn said that he will be back to normal in time," she said. He'll be nervous around men for a while, until he knows that they won't scare him again." They both looked around awkwardly.

"I'll help you with that," he said, after a while, searching for a reaction in her face. "I want to help."

"I know you're busy," she said slowly. "I wouldn't want to distract you from your responsibilities."

Before he could reply, Rhiannon vaulted onto Coinneach's back and joined Ahearn, who had come out of the stable with two sacks of grain strapped across his back.

"Are you ready, little one?" he asked. She nodded, and they began to ride off. "Farewell, Your Highness," Ahearn called, as they trotted away, but Rhiannon didn't look back.

Peter sighed, and walked back to his chambers. What he would give for one of Rhiannon's massages.

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Rhiannon spent four days with the herd at Lantern Waste, wandering the snow-covered forests and playing with the foals and the mares that were there. She loved them all, and after a day or so the mares began to trust her with the care of their children. She would trot Coinneach around the hills and valleys of the rolling Narnian South, and the foals would crowd around her, frolicking with Coinneach. It did the horse good to be able to play and be carefree, and soon it seemed as if the events of the Tournament had never happened as the memories faded compared to the warmth and good cheer of the Talking Horses. At night, Rhiannon would make a fire and the horses would gather around, eating morsels of grain from the bags that Ahearn had brought, and Ahearn or sometimes one of his more favoured mares would tell a story about the herd long ago. They never spoke of the long winter, or of the Witch. They were focused on the future, and on the distant, happy past. To Rhiannon, it seemed like the perfect kind of life.

Peter was occupied with the last days of Rabadash's visit. Now that he didn't have Rhiannon to distract him, he was always coming in between his sister and the Prince, and her good temperament was tested on an hourly basis. Rabadash was seeming to him to be more and more of a threat. There was something hidden in his eyes that Peter could only describe as blood-lust, and it was most present when Peter walked into a room to find only him and Susan, sitting close together and talking in low voices.

He missed Rhiannon terribly, thought of her constantly, and he wondered in the back of his mind what it all meant. But there were more immediate and pressing things to worry about, and it was with relief that he sent Rabadash on his way in his splendid ship down the Bight of Calormene back to his father.

But with Rabadash gone and the castle quiet, and Lucy feeling merry and playing with the Talking beasts that lived around the area, he felt only more and more forlorn. He missed Rhiannon's laugh, and Rhiannon's teasing. Lucy somehow reminded him of her, and her good cheer was a constant source of frustration for him.

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"It is time for you to go, Horsemistress," Ahearn said to her quietly on the third night of her visit. "You must make peace with the High King. You have punished him enough with your absence."

"Is it really a punishement?" she said, trying to be nonchalant. But she couldn't fool Ahearn. "I seem to be nothing but a distraction to him and his duties."

"Distractions are not always unwelcome, or unneeded," Ahearn replied. "He has been foolish, yes. But you must allow him to apologize to you. You are too important to the High King, and you are both too important to me for me to see the two of you miserable."

Rhiannon looked down at the crackling fire and nodded. She couldn't run forever, and she certainly wasn't a horse. She couldn't stay here. And she would never go back to Terebinthia.

"I'll leave in the morning," she said. Ahearn nodded and left her to her thoughts. When she fell asleep that night it was with a mixture of emotions. She wished she could hide here, in the south, forever.

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**A/N: Nothing resolved yet, but it will be, don't worry. Peter's hiding emotionally, and Rhiannon is hiding physically, but no one can stay hidden forever. I hope you liked it, and if you did or didn't, let me know! Just click that little "go" button down there and let your thoughts flow free!**


	12. Except the Memories

**A/N: This is dedicated to amidnightkiss. Thanks for all your reviews! This chapter returns to the tone of the first two chapters. Hope everyone likes it!**

_**NOTE: Edited and re-posted

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_**Interlude: Except Memories**_

Gnarled hands, hardened with age and the need to stay useful grasp a cane in one hand as the other grips the banister of the stairs as she descends them. It is dark in the hallway, and dangerous, and she should ask for help. But she needs to be alone tonight. She needs one night to remember, to let it all come flooding back to her.

So with slow deliberate steps she maneuvers down the stairs. A vision swims before her eyes

_She runs down the stairs like a doe, graceful and lithe, and at his playful urging she jumps onto the banister and slides down, jumping off into his waiting arms. She giggles like a little girl and he wonders aloud what he is going to do with her, because she's not a lady at all._

Going down the stairs now takes much longer; there are no strong arms to catch her at the bottom and there is no one to hurry to. She doesn't live for anyone now.

She reaches his old chambers, kept empty in honour with the dust settling on the windowsills and on the oak furniture and she pads on bare, wrinkled feet to where the doors to the balcony, creaking with lack of use, stand closed. She flings them open and drinks in the night air, closing her eyes and letting the wisps of her thinned and whitened hair be teased by its cool breeze.

Finally, she stares out at Narnia, out at the great expanse of the countryside which is a deep green with the strong moon shining on it. She remembers how he loved this place. How it was a part of his soul. These sixty years or more (she cannot remember exactly) have passed for her in constant reminder. Every blade of grass and stone brings back some memory, some snippet of their intertwined lives. It is sweet torture. To keep remembering makes her know that her life was worthwhile, but to also be reminded of her solitude.

Sometimes she tells stories to the new Court at the Cair. It is strange, even now, to be sitting at one of the lower tables, instead of the High Dais. After dinner everyone gathers round and listens as she weaves her memories together and creates wonderful stories that a whole people's history will be based on. Of course, she doesn't know that. She feels, most of the time, that she doesn't know anything anymore. Except her memories.

She leaves herself out of the stories.

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He wakes to the sound of muffled crying in the dark. For a moment, he turns to the other side of the bed and then he shakes his head, as if to rid it of something, and stands, slowly stretching. The crying belongs to his sister, and it is a wistful, longing cry. He knows exactly why his sister wakes in the middle of the night, expecting to find something but realizing, after several confusing moments, that it is gone, it is a lifetime away. He cries sometimes too, but silently, so that no one hears or tries to comfort him.

He cannot recognize himself anymore. His hands are small and too slender and his body is too slim and has forgotten its dexterity and strength. He wonders if it will ever return without the help of the wild air of Narnia. Without the Lion's Breath to give courage to his heart and mind.

_Edmund swings his sword up and around. They are both laughing, and he shakes his hair out of his eyes with an impatient toss of his head. It is hot; a sweltering summer day. They have removed their tunics and shirts, sparring in their hose. The practice area is quiet and relatively empty. And then there she is. She is wearing a pale green dress, and she looks so cool and fresh like new grass that for one moment he forgets his heat and then it returns to him in a different way._

Now when he sweats it doesn't glisten on tanned and taut skin. His body is softer and paler and smaller and it is a horrible kind of torture. When he dreams about her his mind remembers the feel of her skin and her hair and the touch of her lips like cool water drifting over his body, but his fingers tingle because they can't remember. These are different hands from the ones that knew her body as intimately as he knew the landscape of Narnia.

Once he has quieted his sister for the night, he cannot go back to his bed. Memories of her that are mostly hidden come back to assault him, so he goes for a walk.

He feels clumsiest at night; he semi-stumbles down the stairs. He is gawky right now, growing taller without filling out. Going out into his backyard he flings himself down onto the grass and stares up at the unfamiliar sky. He is instinctively looking for the Leopard, her favourite constellation, and he knows where it should be but instead there is a black hole in the sky. It sucks the life out of him, it mocks him and taunts him with its emptiness. All he can see when he looks into that empty space is her. She is standing there in her pale green dress, she is dancing all in white, she is lying, naked on the bed in his chambers, she is in cream on the bare back of a bay gelding.

It is the most painful thing he has ever done, to look at that black space in the sky and see flashes of their time together, but he cannot look away or blink or close his eyes, and he certainly can't go back to his too-small bed with the plain sheets and think of his other, luxurious bed with flowers from her hair scattered over it from their passion.

So he lies there, and he thinks. And he watches as she gallops by on Coinneach, her auburn hair streaming out behind her.

There is nothing left of her. Except memories.

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**A/N: Hey everyone. I got this angst-bunny today and wrote this. Don't worry, I'll continue with the actual storyline very soon, but I just thought, the more I put in, the better. **

**I was going to post this as a one shot, but I thought that it serves as a reminder that they're supposed to be together, even through all of their conflict. **

**Please review!**


	13. Darby

**A/N: I know, I know. I'm a terrible person. I wrote two one-shots and neglected my baby, and all of you wonderful readers. However, I did a Mary-Sue Litmus Test, and discovered that: _Your character is a well-developed, balanced person, and is almost certainly not a Mary Sue. Congratulations! _So…whoop dee doo!**

**This is a short chapter but I'm crisis-ing in school right now, so it's all or nothing, sparkies!**

**Have patience, Francie! The bit I sent you is coming up.

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**_Chapter 13: Darby_**

Rhiannon and Coinneach made their way leisurely back to Cair Paravel, traveling east over the picturesque landscape of Narnia. Coinneach immensely enjoyed the journey. Rhiannon was letting him stop to paw the ground and nibble at little tufts of grass that poked through the rapidly depleting layer of snow on the ground. It seemed that Narnia was compensating for its long period of winter by cycling through it quickly, and both horse and girl could smell the spring in the air already permeating the country.

For Rhiannon, however, her apparent ease through the journey was really a reluctance to return to the palace. It had been, so short a time ago, a place of comfort for her, but now she could only dread going back to face Peter and Edmund. The episode with Lucy was also playing itself out in her head over and over again, and Rhiannon felt guilty over ignoring the young Queen.

Immediately upon her return, she found Lucy in Glade's stall, looking over the mare's legs.

"Lucy," she said softly, stopping at the entrance to the stall and looking in on her. "I don't think that the problem is with her legs." Lucy looked up, looking sheepish, and blushed. "Do you mind if I look at her?" Lucy nodded, still not saying a word. Rhiannon stepped into the stall and began looking the horse over.

She was smallish, and dainty, beautifully built. Her coat was a glossy chestnust, a pretty reddish-brown all over, with a tiny star on her face and no leg markings. "She's gorgeous," Rhiannon said honestly, running her hands over the horse's neck down to the withers.

When she reached the withers with her hands, and began to slide them further down the horse's back, the mare began to twitch and shudder, as if trying to rid herself of a fly that was stuck to her skin. Upon probing, the horse moved away from her fingers.

"Her back is tense," Rhiannon said, moving closer to the horse once more. "Do you tack her up yourself?"

"Yes, of course," Lucy answered. "A centaur told me that the best way to develop a relationship with your horse is from the ground." Rhiannon smiled.

"He was right," she answered. "Can you bring me her saddle?" Lucy went into the tack room and came back carrying the small, English saddle over one arm. Rhiannon took it from her with a nod and a smile, placed it on the horse's back. Immediately the mare began to twitch. Rhiannon poked expertly at the points where the saddle touched the horse. She beckoned Lucy over.

"Your saddle isn't fitting her correctly," she explained, demonstrating with her fingers. "See here? The gullet in the saddle should be high enough so that you can see underneath the front of the saddle all the way out to the back. Do you see how the saddle almost touches her withers?" Lucy nodded. "That means it's too low, and it's pressing on them when you ride her. And the saddle flaps are also pushing into her back a little, too, although it's not as prominent as the pommel."

"I just got this new saddle as a gift," Lucy said. "All the points on it are white gold, from the dwarves." Rhiannon grinned.

"It is a beautiful piece of work," she agreed. "You should send it back with her old saddle, the one that fits her, and ask them to make the same one and transfer the gold onto it. She's bucking because of the pressure on her back." Lucy nodded, and then looked down, frowning.

"I should have checked if the saddle fit her first," she said, the guilt evident in her voice. "I wanted her to be _mine_, so much, and so I just took over her care. It was reckless of me." Rhiannon shook her head.

"You love this mare," she said firmly. "And she is enamoured with you, anyone can see it. There has been no lasting harm done. And you know enough to ask questions and to seek help when you need it. You are attentive to her, anyone can see that. Glade still trusts you. Don't dwell on it." She continued hesitantly. "Lucy?" she asked, waiting for a sign that she could continue.

"Yes?" Lucy prompted.

"I am sorry- for being so abrupt with you the day of the joust. I had no justification for refusing your comfort. You were being so kind to me, and I rebuffed you with so much rudeness. You didn't deserve that. I apologize." Lucy smiled the first real smile Rhiannon had seen all day.

"Oh, Rhiannon, I _am_ glad. I thought you were angry with me for sticking my nose where it didn't belong. Of course I accept the apology, it wasn't necessary! And thank you for looking at Glade for me. I know I took up a lot of your time."

"Nonsense," Rhiannon replied, blushing. Lucy had no idea that she had her own selfish reasons for helping. She was strictly avoiding going up to the castle where she had a chance of seeing Peter. They smiled at one another.

"Lu, are you not ready yet? We have to go, or we won't be back in time for dinner!" A familiar voice was calling into the barn, and Peter poked his head in. One of his hands was holding the reins of his large gelding, and at the sight of Rhiannon he almost dropped them.

"I'm coming Peter, just give me ten minutes." She tactfully disappeared into the tack room. Rhiannon could hear her rummaging around in there, presumably looking for different bits of tack. Rhiannon had no choice. She walked resolutely up to the barn door.

They exchanged pleasantries with one another, formally and awkwardly. Rhiannon wasn't sure if Peter was mad at her for leaving without notice, and he was utterly at a loss as to whether she was still seething about Coinneach. Finally, Peter took the step forward towards reconciliation.

"Rhiannon," he said, looking straight into her eyes, reminding her once again what made him so captivating and authoritative. "I was a beast. I know that I shouldn't have let Rabadash take Coinneach away from you, and I know that I should have come to see you after the joust. I was avoiding you because I was afraid of your reaction. I was afraid that you wouldn't forgive me."

"It's forgiven," she said, surprising him. "We've spent enough time dwelling and lingering on this. Coinneach will be fine, and Ahearn said…well, he reminded me that no one is doing any good by hiding or being miserable." Peter smiled at her, and bent down to kiss her. His reins fell from his hand, but he didn't notice, as it was too busy winding itself in Rhiannon's hair, the other grasped firmly at the small of her back. His horse simply bent down to nose at the floor, looking for some spilled grain or a wisp of hay left behind. He was trained to ground-tie, and was used to being left to his own devices with his reins dangling to the floor.

A clear, sharp bugle pierced the air, causing them to rip apart, gulping in air. Peter grinned and ran a hand through his hair. By Aslan, he had missed her. Her taste, her shape, her eyes sucking him in. But she wasn't looking at him. She was gazing out off the cliff where the stable was situated, out to where a small galley with cream sails was making port at the quay. And she was beaming, surprised, staring at the plump figure which stood now on the dock.

"Darby!" she cried, and wheeled away, leaving footprints on the muddy ground beneath her feet. Her mantle billowed about her as she ran down the cobblestone pathways to the quay. Peter looked after her, and then followed almost immediately, leaving both his horse and Lucy forgotten by the barn.

Darby, Rhiannon's older sister, was beautiful. No one could deny it. She looked as though she had sprung from the earth, that all the elements had blessed her with one of their gifts. Fire had certainly bestowed upon its hair upon her. It was bright and vibrant and wavy, like tendrils of flame. Water had given her clear, blue eyes which danced like the waves upon the shore, and air had given her the almost translucent, pale colour of her skin. And earth had given her the smell of lavender and the grace of nature.

Everone, of course, noticed this except Rhiannon. Her memories and feelings about Darby were selective and fickle, but right now she was glad to see her older sister. She almost flung herself into Darby's arms, but stopped when she saw the reason why her sister looked so unfamiliar to her.

"You're _pregnant_!" Rhiannon cried, grasping Darby's hands. "Why did you never tell me before I went away?" Darby laughed. It was deeper and more mature than Rhiannon's.

"And hello to you, sister. Why have you not written home this month past?"

"Oh," Rhiannon replied, fishing for a reason. "I've been very busy, and I-"

But then Peter came up. "Rhiannon," he said, smiling. "Who is your friend?" Darby smiled at him in a way that Peter couldn't really put a finger on. A mother. She smiled like a mother.

"This is my sister, the Lady Darby of Seancrann. Darby, may I present the High King Peter?" Peter bowed, Darby curtsied, but she couldn't control that one eyebrow that wiggled around and lifted itself up whenever something was amiss. She had never heard that courtiers were on such informal terms with the High King.

"Your Highness, I feel I should explain my presence and my unexpected arrival at your palace," she began, but Peter cut her off with a smile and a raise of one hand.

"There is no need, my Lady. You are kin to one of the dearest ladies at our Court, and you are a subject of Narnia held in high esteem. You are always welcome at the Cair."

"Thank you, Your Highness, it is much appreciated. My men will stay on the ship, I am not staying long, but I should like to sleep in a real bed for one night," she said. "The seas still do not agree with me, especially when I lumber about with this extra weight!" Rhiannon giggled, and Peter smiled at Darby in acknowledgement. But he, too, felt that there was something amiss in the lady's visit. It meant more than Rhiannon had thought. No father would send their first-born onto a ship in the middle of the ocean while pregnant, leaving her husband to find a daughter that he had sent off himself. It didn't make sense.

"I can't believe you're here!" Rhiannon cried when they returned to her chambers. "The only thing missing from Cair Paravel was you. How's Sean? When is the baby due? How is Father? And Alec? And the horses? How long are you staying?" She asked incessant questions until Darby sat on the bed chuckling.

"Calm down, love!" she hushed, smiling serenely. Rhiannon was usually so would tight and hyperactive that her sister's calm demeanour usually soothed her. "Sean is very well. He is working with a ship-building crew out of the south, which is why I was free to come to you. The baby is due in three months, and I think it will be twins. I am getting so fat the midwife said there couldn't be just one! And Father is well but he is worried for you. He did not know if you were alright. I see now," she said significantly, "that you are more than alright."

"Oh, I am!" Rhiannon said, not understanding the meaning. "Everyone is wonderful here, and so accommodating. I've made some wonderful friends, and I've met a Talking Horse! He is a lord of battle and his name is Ahearn. But you did not answer all of my questions!"

Darby chuckled. "What was next? Alec? You mean the groom? I am so sorry, lovely, but he's gone. That wild stallion trampled him three weeks ago. Father didn't want to upset you so he didn't write." Rhiannon's head drooped, and she sat down on the edge of the bed beside Darby and let her put a comforting arm around her. The two russet heads bowed together for a few moments.

"I'm not staying long, dearest," Darby continued. "Only a few days." She looked around at the room. "There's a layer of dust over this whole chamber! You don't use it much, do you?" she asked, quietly. She thought she rather knew whose room Rhiannon was occupying.

"Yes!" Rhiannon agreed. "I've been traveling with Ahearn over the Narnian countryside, for a week or so," she said. "And so I haven't been around the Cair very much at all. Can you stay with me tonight, in here, so we can talk like we used to? I've missed you, Darby."

"Of course, dearest."

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**A/N: Okay, if you review, it'll motivate me to write more, and the next chapter promises to be HUGE.**


	14. Seancrann

**A/N: I am a terrible person. I know. I haven't lost interest in this story, don't worry, but this was my school crunch time. It's almost all over, though, and there will be two or three chapters before exam time hits.

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_**Chapter 14: Seancrann**_

Spring was approaching quickly in Narnia, basking it in its watery softness and filling the air with a damp sweetness that was palpable and almost tangible. Around the countryside there was much celebration, as new babies were born and brought to Cair Paravel, where Lucy met each happy parent with glee. She had a talent for making each creature in Narnia feel as if the birth of _their_ child was the most important, the most joyous.

It was a joy that Darby and Rhiannon were able to share. Most of their time was spent with each other and with Lucy, now that she had made her peace with Rhiannon. In the fullness of her pregnancy Darby couldn't move around much, and so the Narnian countryside was brought to her in the form of small, fuzzy bundles carried on spindly and unsteady legs.

Peter was becoming frustrated. In the wake of their reconciliation, he had been looking forward to spending time with Rhiannon alone and secluded, and to making amends for his blunder by working with Coinneach. But all her time was taken up with her beautiful sister, and it seemed that the entire Court was enamoured by her. Darby grinned and glowed her way into the hearts of everyone around her, but she rarely ever turned her attention to Peter. He hadn't expected Darby to fall at her feet before him, but he thought that as Rhiannon's sister, she would have been more friendly. He saw her eyes turn to him occasionally, mostly when he was speaking to Rhiannon, and there seemed to be something suspicious and almost accusatory in her look that made him uncomfortable. No one else noticed this, though. Everyone seemed to find a piece of her to love.

"She looks so wise and calm," Edmund said of her. "She seems to be secure in herself and in her decisions." He went silent for a while, watching the older red-head with the pale blue eyes as she reached out her hand to stroke the head of a small lamb, who could not even speak yet. Lucy was smiling at her. The two seemed to glow together, and Rhiannon stood behind them, one corner of her mouth upturned. She looked distracted.

"I love her, Rhiannon, I really do," said Susan while Darby slept and the monarchs had lunch. "She's so kind, and she has such a quiet, peaceful spirit. And she is very beautiful. You must take after different parents; your eyes are nothing alike." Rhiannon nodded, and took a sip of her water.

Peter was polite and friendly, but never seemed to spend very much time around her in the week or so that they spent at Cair Paravel. When Peter and Rhiannon would sneak off to the gardens when the rain sprinkled down around them, so that they could have a moment or two together, he would always excuse himself if Darby came out to see her sister. Rhiannon at first found it sweet, but she began to wonder if anything had transpired between her King and her sister. She occasionally caught Darby searching her face when she spoke with Peter, and though she always turned away quickly and continued speaking with Susan, who got along very well with her, Rhiannon always caught a flash of something almost disapproving. It wasn't a new feeling to her, especially with the father she had grown up with, but Darby had always defended her younger sister.

Eventually, Rhiannon decided to shrug it off and chalk it up to her omnipresent feelings of jealousy. Darby had always been loved, perfect, adored wherever she went. She had been so happy at the palace with everyone, beginning to feel that she had finally found a place of her own, but once again Darby had come in and stolen the show.

One day, the two sisters sat in Rhiannon's room. Darby was knitting a tiny sweater for her new baby, and Rhiannon had brought some of her tack into her room and was industriously cleaning it. Darby had only raised an eyebrow when she had lumbered in, laden down with saddle, bridle and girth.

"The High King is handsome, is he not?" Darby casually mentioned without lifting her eyes. Rhiannon stopped taking apart her bridle, gazing with wide eyes into the face of her sister, who was looking studiously unaffected.

"Yes, I suppose he is," she replied, trying to remain equally casual.

"And he seems to be very fond of you," Darby continued. "In fact, he seems to spend more time with you than with any of his siblings. Susan told me that you two are- close." She sounded even more casual now, and it put Rhiannon directly on her guard.

"What are you tip-toeing around, sister? You and I have always spoken candidly, and I have never concealed anything from you in the past."

"You would do well to conceal it!" Darby said, finally looking up from her sweater. "It is shameful, Rhiannon. I know that you are young, and full of fancies-"

"You were married at my age, Darby. You cannot presume to know my mind or my heart."

"Please do not tell me that you love this King. He is out of your reach. He will never marry you, he will only use you for his own purposes. Rhiannon, why can you not see this? Are you so blinded by your lust and your infatuation that you would put your reputation in jeopardy for a passing romance?" Rhiannon's nostrils flared, and she stood up, tack forgotten.

"No. I do not love him. But we- we are compatible, like when the rider finds the perfect horse. We play and laugh and tease and I am happy when I am with him. And because you love me I will forgive your last words."

"He will never marry you, Rhiannon. What will you do for the rest of your life when he is finished with you and you are no longer wanted by other men?" Rhiannon's eyes flashed.

"Since I seem to not be welcome with my own family any longer, I will go and live with the horses in Lantern Waste. _That_ will suit me. At least they do not speak behind the backs of one another and spin tales that they know nothing about!" Rhiannon scooped up her saddle and the rest of her tack and stalked out of the room. She heard Darby call her name, but didn't turn or stop walking.

An hour later, Peter strolled down to the barn to go for a ride with Edmund. When he got there, walking into the tack room, he was surprised to find Rhiannon scowling at her saddle, scrubbing it furiously over and over.

"The leather will start to rub off if you keep at it," he said lightly, hoping to distract her.

"She's supposed to love me!" Rhiannon snarled, lifting her head and staring at him. "She's supposed to understand. Of all people, she should understand me best!" Exhaling between a sigh and a groan, she stood up and buried her head in his chest, snaking her fingers up to hook into his sword-belt. Pressing up against him, she sighed contentedly as his lips found her neck and pressed delicate kisses along it, moving up towards her ear.

"Are you alright?" he whispered, and she shivered against him, causing a hissing intake of his breath. "Rhiannon…"

She toyed with his stomach through his tunic, languidly enjoying the feel of him pressed between her and the wall he had been leaning against when he found her. "I'm fine," she said softly into his chest, bringing her hands around his neck and running the tips of her fingers through his hair. He tilted his head back with a groan. "Go for your ride, I'm going back up to the castle."

She backed up and turned to walk away, but paused in the doorway. "Do you think we're shameful?" she asked calmly. He smiled at her with slightly sleepy eyes.

"If it was shameful, would either of us allowed it to happen? Don't let her think that I'll get tired of you, Rhiannon. It's turning out to be just the opposite." She graced him with the softest of smiles. "May I claim your company this evening? I am in dire need of a massage." They both grinned.

"If you're good," she said slyly, and walked out the door, ready once more to face her sister.

Darby immediately apologized and offered her blessing. Peter was handsome, a good King, and a kind, brave man, she said. If her little sister was happy, then she herself would try to be happy as well. She stipulated this with warnings, however, and begged her to take care.

"I just would hate myself if you ended up regretting this."

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Rhiannon thought long and hard for the next two days about Peter. When she had met him, she had known that he was different. Not in the way that the love of your life is special, but in the way that some people seem when they don't belong where they are. When their time is limited, when their days are numbered. She was sure that she was one of the few who could really see it. One day, Peter would go back to his own place, where he truly belonged, and she would be left behind. She knew now, that though she was a guest at Cair Paravel, it was more her home than it was his, because she felt that she could spend her life there. She had heard the expression, "once a King of Narnia, always a King of Narnia", but she knew that one could be a king in exile.

Even with this information now fully sorted and swirling around inside her, her commitment to Peter remained, even was strengthened. He would never get tired of her, he said, and she believed him. That could only mean that he would one day be ripped away from her, without knowledge or consent.

_When that day comes, I will be ready. I will be so full of him, have such a piece of his heart that I will never forget him, and I will never, ever be without him._

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To Rhiannon's surprise, Peter decided to come to Terebinthia with Darby and herself. To the rest of the Court he explained that only Edmund had ever been, that he wanted to acquaint himself more fully with his vassals in that part of his land, but privately to Rhiannon in his bed he told her that he wanted to see where she came from, and to meet her father. He was intrigued by all the glimpses she had given him of home.

They left on the evening tide ten days after Darby had arrived in Narnia. The sea was gusty and playful as they left, and after one or two hours had passed the sun began to sink behind them, making the Cair sparkle in the fading light, and basking the Narnian shore in pinks and vermilions and indigos of the purest shades. All of them wore green, Rhiannon was wearing Peter's mantle, and they waved to Susan and Edmund and Lucy. Susan was crying as she frantically flailed her arms towards the small galley.

Rhiannon looked at the scene, and tried to come up with some sort of good feeling for Susan. She liked the eldest Queen, but with all of her grace and beauty she had always seemed so foreign to Rhiannon. A different species of girl.

The voyage passed without incident. Darby and Peter, forced to spend every waking hour with one another within the confines of the ship, grew to be friendly, if a little stiff with one another. Rhiannon couldn't help but beam indulgently as she would silently watch Peter assist her sister into a chair on the deck, or into her cot for a nap.

They landed after several days at Seancrann, which had its own private quay. The shore was rocky, and would have seemed barren if not for the vibrant, deep and wild green that coated over half the terrain. The wind was high here, on the island, and it whipped around the small crowd that had gathered and around the three noble figures exiting the ship. Before they came in sight of anyone, Peter grabbed her hand and squeezed it. His smile was reassuring.

The two sisters surveyed the people and the land they had grown up with as they waited for the gangplank to be lowered onto the dock. Darby saw it as home, wild and raw and beautiful. It had shaped her identity since she was small. She had inherited its natural, striking appearance. Her tendency to healing and gentleness was a counter to its savage aura. But Rhiannon saw its barren landscape, a jarring contrast to the rolling lushness of the Narnian mainland. She saw the jutting cliffs and the stone hall they called home, and it looked to her like a compound, made to keep her in. She stood wary, and kept close to Peter, unconsciously channeling his strength and stoic nature.

The Lord Derryth of Seancrann came down a hill on a sturdy, dark bay charger, grinning. It was apparent even from the saddle that he was a tall man, large shouldered and strong. He looked nothing like the puffed up Dukes from the larger cities in the Isles.

Derryth dismounted heavily, and grinning, walked towards his daughters with his arms wide open in welcome. The people parted and bowed as he passed, but he paid them no attention.

"My daughters! Returned home from your long absence. The halls have been darker of late, especially without Darby's beauty to liven them." He embraced the older sister, and for such a large man he took great care with her swollen belly. Next he turned to Rhiannon.

"My little knight," he said affectionately. "How do you fare, young one? Has your time at the Cair been as enjoyable as you had hoped?" She hugged her father earnestly back, flushing at his pet name for her. It had been too long since she had seen the man who had raised her.

"Father, I have been so happy. Father Christmas has given me a horse! And he is beautiful, I named him Coinneach-"

"Rhiannon, who is this young man who stands so silent in my presence?"

"Father, may I present His Highness Peter, High King of Narnia. Your Highness, my father, the Lord Derryth of Seancrann." Derryth inclined his head and shoulders towards Peter in a slight bow.

Peter was taken aback. Normally when a noble met him for the first time, he or she would go down on one knee, or curtsey to the floor. Instead of bowing, Peter simply nodded his head.

"I have heard much of you, Lord Derryth, and I imposed upon the hospitality of your daughters in order to accompany them on this voyage to meet such an esteemed subject of mine. I now impose upon your household once more, and ask to remain until the Lady Rhiannon returns to Cair Paravel. We will then voyage back together."

It was Derryth's turn to be surprised. He said nothing, but nodded, and grinned to cover his state of confusion. A groom took the charger and the whole party began to walk up from the dock towards a set of stairs cut into the cliffs that led to the hall. The father of the two girls spoke only to Darby, asking her about her health and the projected date of her baby's delivery. He scarcely spared a glance for Rhiannon, who walked as though she was attending a funeral.

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Later, at dinner, Rhiannon was tired. Tired of listening to countless tales of how she was an embarrassment to a noble family. Oh, they were not abusing her purposely or viciously, and she knew that if she were to seem visibly upset, they would be confused, but nevertheless she felt a gnawing feeling in her stomach and a burning in her cheeks. She avoided eye contact with Peter.

Derryth had not said a word to her all night at dinner, but spoke of her at length. "Never met a girl who played outside so much! She used to be filthy when she came inside for supper. Had to have two baths a day until she was twelve!" The whole company would laugh, and she would smile her strained smile and pick at her potatoes.

"Father, do you remember when she would go to the barn?" Darby was smiling, her eyes alight and shining. Derryth laughed heartily before speaking.

"Of course! From the day she turned three and Alec took her out to the barns for the first time, she was there every single day. Used to help him pick out the stalls in the afternoon and scrub water buckets. I don't know if she played in the manure afterwards, but she always came home smelling like it." Another peal of laughter from all down the table. Rhiannon looked down and pushed her fork across her plate, moving the food around and trying not to look too embarrassed. Why did they have to do this in front of Peter, of all people?

"And then, that stable boy came when she was twelve, and all of a sudden she was wearing ribbons in her hair and little frocks." Darby giggled. "And there would be dirt all over her best dresses because once she was there she couldn't stop herself rolling around in the manure pile, I suppose." Rhiannon felt eyes burning into her, and she knew who they belonged to. Slowly, she raised her eyes to look over at him, and he was staring at her from across the table, smirking at her. And she remembered all the times she had spilled bran mash all over herself, all the times she had ripped dresses, and all the times he had come to the barn to find her grooming energetically with the hair sticking to her sweating face. And she smirked, too.

Derryth looked over at his youngest daughter, and found her locking eyes with the High King. His eyes narrowed. King or no King, Peter was still a man, and if he hoped to touch her, he would have to marry her.

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"Finally," Rhiannon said wickedly as she shut and locked the door behind her. "All that time on the ship, so claustrophobic…"

"Never a moment alone with your father breathing down my neck…" They matched smiles, small and naughty, and slowly came to stand together. Rhiannon pulled him, backing up and perching on one of the windowsills in the room. The ledge was almost as high as her waist. He kissed her deep and long, arching her back against the window, pulling her hips towards him. She practically ached for him, and she didn't know why, right now, she wanted him so much. She simply knew that she couldn't wait any longer. Her hands glided over familiar skin to his breeches, and he hissed into her ear between kisses on her neck. "God, Rhiannon…"

"What is the meaning of this?" The door banged open and hit the opposite wall, and the Lord Derryth stood livid and red in the entranceway. They froze in their embrace, turning to face the angry noble. Peter looked sheepish, slightly guilty, but Rhiannon, for the first time since she had arrived at Seancrann, looked on fire. Peter was biased, but at that moment she rivaled Darby in beauty.

"The meaning of what, Father?" She asked calmly, but with fire under her words. She was not in possession of what Peter called "cold anger", the anger that became more calm with each insult. She had hot anger. Less intimidating, perhaps, but effective nonetheless.

"Rhiannon, have you no shame? Seducing this man in my own home! Defiling our family name, disgracing it by giving up your innocence to this--"

"Careful with your next words, My Lord," Peter interrupted. "I would choose them wisely." Derryth stopped talking for a moment.

"You are correct, Your Highness. My apologies." He turned back to Rhiannon. "You, my little knight, are never going back to Cair Paravel. Forget that place, it will never exist to you anymore."

"You can't do that, Father. I have a life there. I have Coinneach, my friends--"

"You call sharing a bed with this King a life? You are an embarrassment to this family! Mark my words, Rhiannon, you will stay in this house 'till the end of your days, unless, Aslan willing, some fool of a man takes you cheaply from me." Derryth's huge chest was heaving, his deep-set eyes glittering.

"I will never stay here. Do you hear me? I know that you have never before listened to a word I have said but I advise you to begin now. I am a grown woman. I am no longer the pet that once amused you, the little girl who wanted to be a warrior, the awkward adolescent who could never please you. And I will never live here again."

Peter watched this, staring at Rhiannon and noticing as she seemed to shrink under her father's cold gaze. Derryth looked even taller next to his lithe daughter. He was roaring now, his voice propelled by his anger and his outrage at Rhiannon's impertinence.

"Rhiannon, so help me I will keep you here if I have to chain you to the stable walls! On this island _I_ am the King, and you will obey the orders of your King! Perhaps some time alone in your room will teach you how to speak to me. I know now that I have been far too doting on you, letting you run around in the fields like a peasant boy! It is no wonder you have never found anyone to love you honourably!" In that one moment, she deflated. Face falling, she turned and fled. Peter and Derryth stared at one another for a minute that seemed an eternity. It was an internal struggle of minds and power, each vying against the other. But for Peter, Rhiannon won, and eventually he tore his eyes away from Derryth and followed the path she had taken.

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Rhiannon ran out barefoot onto the shore outside the manor, breathing in deep gulps of the salty air and trying to calm down. She stood and looked out East, towards the horizon. The sun was disappearing to the West, and cast an eerie glow about her.

"Please," she whispered. "Not yet." But no one answered, and at last the sun was gone, leaving her in twilight on the sand. She sank to her knees and began to cry. _This is all you'll ever have of him_, she thought, and his eyes seared into her from inside her mind. The wind was picking up, it wildly pulled at her hair and her dress, and she didn't notice the cold. She also didn't notice Peter coming up behind her.

He cupped Rhiannon's chin and pulled her up to him wordlessly, and she noticed that his eyes were glassy. His thumb brushed against her cheek and under her eyes, but it wasn't enough to stem the tide of tears. She crashed into him, pressing her body against his, trying desperately to feel his solid warmth. His mouth was plundering hers, attacking all of her defenses, running his hands all over her body. She found the hem of his shirt and slid her hands up over his chest, and buried her head in his shoulder. His lips pressed against the hollow of her throat, nipping and teasing, and it suddenly became hard to breathe, hard to think. Her body moved of its own volition, and her head felt fuzzy. She wanted him to devour her, to make her forget what was about to happen. She pushed her hips into his, and felt his shudder and the sharp intake of breath on her neck.

Her insistence jolted Peter back to reality. He pulled away from her and saw that she was still crying, still trying to cling to him. She was making this so hard for him. What could he do?

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**A/N: Give it a few days, my lovelies. The next chapter is written, and it will be up soon. This chapter is dedicated to Halle, who won't read this, but through our conversations, has kept me in constant thought about this fic, and to Ardwyad, whose reviews uplifted a horrendous day.**


	15. Home

**A/N: One exam done, four to go! Woot! Anywhoo, here is the next, very short chapter that I've written. I'm afraid there's going to be another maybe two-week period without an update, but I'm trying, folks!**

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_**Chapter 15: Home**_

The door slammed.

"You may be King on this island, but I am High King, of all Narnia and of all the Isles. And I tell you now that no subject of mine may be imprisoned against her will. Tomorrow, Rhiannon and I will leave on the morning tide. And if you attempt to detain her here, I will return with swords enough to conquer these high walls and barren rocks." Peter's voice was clear and sharp as a bell slicing through the silence of the still air. But still he sounded calm, authoritative, _kingly_.

Derryth's eyes flashed. "You think you are brave and powerful, do you not, Boy-King?" He asked mockingly. "But I have no fear of you. I do not bow to men with no scruples. How dare you enter my land and my home to seduce my daughter under my roof? How dare you take her innocence and spoil her for all honourable men!"

"I did not spoil her, my Lord. And it was never my intention to dishonour your home or your family. But…my Lord-" For the first time he faltered. "This stand-off will not do. I must speak with you candidly, under a strict oath of confidence."

Derryth looked suspicious, his eyes narrow as he stared levelly into the King's eyes. Peter's head was high but he looked humble, almost pleading with the unyielding man who stood before him. Derryth said nothing. Seeing that he would get no promise of secrecy, his shoulders slumped. Taking a deep breath, he exposed his inner-most thoughts to a man he had known only two days.

"I love her." His voice was steady and his eyes shone clear into the dim lighting of the room, glittering by the light of the candles. He stared straight at the huge man in front of him.

"Bah!" Derryth cried. "I see no ring on her finger. I see no wedding, no cake, and especially, no crown. You did not come to my home to ask my permission before you lay your hands on her."

"My lord, that is exactly why I have come to your home. I want to marry Rhiannon, but wouldn't do so without coming here to speak to you myself," he explained, hardly knew where the words were coming from. He had come to try to reason with Derryth, maybe threaten him a little, but he had never expected to ask this man's permission for his daughter's hand in marriage. And yet, the more he thought, the more sense it made. He loved Rhiannon, didn't he? Was he not happier than he had ever been in his life?

But doubt was rearing its ugly head, grating against his thoughts. _What if she doesn't love me?_ They were hardly over-emotional people. They played and laughed, but they rarely ever discussed their feelings, and they certainly had never brought love into their bedroom. It was too much and too serious, but Peter had felt it when he held her in the wee hours of the morning, with her body snug against his and her hands lightly skimming over chest, waist, hips.

He studied Derryth's reaction. The man was staring at Peter with his eyes wide and a general expression of shock on his face.

"This is not a passing fancy, my Lord. I have thought it through. I will, however, be leaving tomorrow with Rhiannon at my side, and we will marry whether or not we have your blessing." This seemed to bring Derryth out of his temporary state of shock.

"Never fear, my lord King. You will have my blessing. You honour my family with your choice." Lord Derryth, now completely composed, looked as though his life was finally coming into place, as though the seeds of his ambition were beginning to flower.

"Thank you. I remind you, my Lord, that you must keep this in the strictest of confidences. I have not spoken to Rhiannon yet, I wished to come to you first. Please tell her that you will allow her to return to Cair Paravel under the title of Chief Lady-in-Waiting to Queen Susan." Peter said. He was still reeling from the gravity of what he had just promised to do. All he wanted to do was see Rhiannon, to remind him of the soft, laughing woman that was attached to that cold and diplomatic institution of royal marriage.

"I will leave you now, but rest assured that we will remain in communication as soon as I have discussed the marriage with Rhiannon." Peter nodded his head, and began to leave the room.

"Your Highness," Derryth called. Peter stopped short, baffled. It was the first time that Derryth had addressed him in any way respectfully. He turned around, a polite look of inquiry on his face.

"Will you please send Rhiannon to me?" Peter smiled.

"Of course, my Lord. And we'll stay for one or two more days."

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The next morning, Rhiannon walked out onto the balcony in Peter's chambers, coming up to him from behind and admiring the way he stood so tall and so straight and so kingly, wrapping her arms around his waist and leaning her cheek against the tightly wound muscle of his back. His large hands covered hers, skimming up over her arms, and she smiled into his tunic.

"What did you do?" she asked softly. Peter smiled. He turned around in her arms and looked down at her, tracing the contours of her face with her eyes. Usually it made her uncomfortable, but today, she was reciprocating. "Peter, what did you say to him?"

"I told him that if he kept you here that I would return with all Narnia's armies to recover you." She gasped and stared, mouth open in complete and utter bafflement. That anyone could stand up to _her_ father was beyond her.

"Peter! How could you say such a thing? To threaten him with force and a show of power is barbaric," she said, searching his face. Her father may have been unfair, he may have been a bully, but he belonged to her. But Peter just continued to study her methodically. He looked grave, in a contented way, and she couldn't put her finger on what else she saw in his face. It was a joy, but not quite. It confused her.

"Don't fret, Rhiannon," he said. "Your father was no more impressed by my armies than he was by my apologies. But in the end, he wanted you to be free. He wanted you to continue to be happy. He loves you, Rhiannon."

"I know," she finally said, after a long pause. She was staring out towards the stable, running her eyes over the land that had belonged to her family for generations. "He told me today…that he was proud of me, and that he loved me. It was the first time he had said that since I was a little child." A tear fell, and her eyes and nose started to redden. "Oh no," she said softly. "I hate to cry."

Peter chuckled and held her for a while, pulling her back against the front of his body and resting his chin on the top of her head while she sniffled and brushed awkwardly at her eyes. Finally, she turned to look at him, and grinned at her puffy eyes.

"Shut up," she muttered. "I'm going to clean up for lunch."

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Rhiannon spent the day alone. Peter wasn't used to this silent, solitary girl who ate her lunch without saying a single word and who slipped off to the stable when he was engaged in conversation with Darby's husband. Darby later told her that it was to go to the stables. The groom Alec, had been buried at the top of a small hill that had a perfect view of all the paddocks.

Alec, she told him, would sit up there with Rhiannon on a smooth and worn-down boulder and point to each horse in turn. She would give the horse's name, colour, breed, and if she was close enough, she would list off the markings. It was how she began to learn and to love. And when she got older, she would go and with Alec as he told her of Narnia, the land of the Talking Horses. It was how she had decided she wanted to go, and it had taken her the better part of two years to convince her father, with Alec's help. And then he had died.

"He was a much better sister and father than we ever were," Darby said wistfully, staring down at her shoes. "I wish she could have been here to say goodbye." A tear fell, glistening down her face perfectly. He put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Though she was beautiful to look at Peter did not feel that familiar pang that he felt for Rhiannon, that feeling that made him want to tweak her nose and throw her to his bed at the same time. He wondered how often that happened, to find someone with that much power over him, and then he asked that it would never be necessary to find someone else. He only wanted her. Until the end of his days.

She came back to him in the night, after the household had gone to bed, carrying a single candle and grinning mischievously. They would _not_ be well-rested for the journey tomorrow.

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The dawn light found them at the dock, yawning with sleepy eyes, as the same small crowd of petty farmers and sailors' wives stood clustered around the quay waiting to see them off. This time, Derryth was on foot, beaming at his daughter as she grinned radiantly and hugged him. He whispered something in her ear that made her look down gravely, and when her eyes were raised again her eyes were glassy.

Darby clung onto her sister as well as she could with her large expanse of belly, crying openly and demanding that the letters come more often next time.

"If it's a boy we've decided to name him Peter." Rhiannon's eyes spilled over then, the tears falling. "I know it's not traditional, but I decided that I could bend the rules for the High King."

"Oh, Darby, thank you!" The two red heads bowed together one last time, and their faces were buried into each others' shoulders. Derryth stood by Peter, smiling at his two daughters. Finally, the two girls broke apart, grinning at one another.

"I swear by Aslan, Rhiannon, if you don't write I will hunt you down once again! I don't care how busy you are—" Rhiannon tuned out her sister for one last moment and looked up at the cliffs and the trees and the jutting rocks and saw an osprey flying above the roof of the manor towards the shore. For once, her home didn't look repressive or intimidating. She flew, in her mind's eye, toward the stables, wandered through the aisleway and out the back door to the small hill. She saw the small gravemarker framed against the blue-grey of the dawn light, and saw the horses all grazing in the coolness of the early morning. Her eyes found the face of her father. He smiled gravely, nodded to Peter and bowed his head to him, and stepped off the quay with Darby.

Ten minutes later, the island was shrinking away and the hands of the waving crowd became moving blurs. The sun was behind them as they glided on the clean, clear waters of the ocean, and Rhiannon smiled as she felt the heat of the spring on her back.

"Home," she murmured, staring into the vast, seemingly infinite waters. "I'm going _home_."

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**A/N: And….whoa. Please review!**


	16. Author's Note

Author's Note:

**Author's Note:**

**My loyal readers, and perhaps some that are new to this story and have gotten this far (congratulations, by the way), I have a message that hopefully will please you!**

**I'm preparing to continue this fic, and plan on updating with a new chapter in the next couple of days! I went through a weird couple of years and had nothing to say about Rhiannon or Peter (being caught up in your own life does that to you) and I would read and re-read the last chapter I have written and try desperately to see what would happen next with no idea whatsoever. Now, though, I am pleased to say that I know last part of their journey and I would like to share it with you.**

**Just to give you an idea of what you and I are getting into, this fic will be comprised of 25 chapters in total. That's right, ten more to go. They are all planned out, though I'm giving nothing away. I hope to finish off this fic relatively quickly and then to go back and re-edit some chapters in which I've found mistakes.**

**Just letting you all know that I am newly committed to this fic, and I will see you all in a couple of days with a nice long re-introduction into the world of Rhiannon and Peter.**

**Thanks for sticking around, if you're an old reader, and thanks for dropping by, if you're new!**

**Domlando.**


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